ROBERT  HIGH  ENS 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 
ROBERT  HICHENS 


THE   SPIRIT 
OF   THE   TIME 

A  NOVEL  OF  TODAY 


BY 
ROBERT  HICHENS 

AUTHOR  OP  "MRS  MAEDEN,"   "THE   GARDEN  OF  ALLAH," 

"THE  GREEN  CARNATION,"  "THE  CALL 
OF  THE  BLOOD,"  ETC. 


NEW  XBJr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States" of  America 


2136129   ' 


THE  SPIRIT 
OF   THE    TIME 

CHAPTER  I 

IN  the  autumn  of  1919  Derrick  Merton, 
although  he  prided  himself  on  being  a  man 
of  will  and  possessing  a  sense  of  humour,  felt 
that  he  really  couldn't  "stand  things"  much 
longer.  Like  thousands  of  other  people  he 
was  suffering  from  reaction  after  the  long 
nightmare  of  war.  Although  he  had  been  too 
old — alas,  he  was  over  fifty — for  active  ser- 
vice he  had  spent  a  great  part  of  the  last 
five  years  in  doing  things  which  were  hardly 
in  his  "line,"  because  he  had  considered  it 
his  duty  to  do  them.  He  had  served  for  four 
years  with  the  Special  Constables,  had  been  a 
helper  in  an  East  End  hospital  for  wounded 
soldiers,  had  done  a  lot  of  dull  clerical  work 
for  a  public  department,  and,  for  a  few  months, 

[7] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

had  driven  a  motor  lorry  in  order  that  a  man 
might  be  released  for  the  army.  Twenty- 
seven  air  raids  had  fallen  to  his  lot,  He  had 
formerly  been  accustomed  to  spend  a  consider- 
able part  of  each  year  in  travelling  abroad 
and  had  not  left  England  once  since  the  War 
had  broken  out.  And  now  he  had  a  bad  cold 
in  the  head  which  he  could  not  shake  off. 
Even  repeated  and  almost  desperate  inhala- 
tions of  Friar's  Balsam  did  him  no  good,  and 
his  sneezes  were  loud  and  portentous  in  the 
land  of  his  fathers.  On  the  top  of  all  this  came 
the  great  railway  strike  and  a  loud  call  for  vol- 
unteers to  do  all  sorts  of  extremely  unattrac- 
tive things.  It  was  really  too  much !  And  life 
seemed  almost  unbearable  to  Derrick  as  he 
sat  sneezing  beside  a  small  fire — there  was  very 
little  coal  to  be  had  just  then — in  his  flat  in 
Cork  Street,  London,  and  wondering  whether 
he  ought  to  go  off  and  offer  his  services  as 
an  amateur  porter  at  one  of  the  big  stations — 
Waterloo  perhaps! 

He  decided  to  ask  a  doctor.  For  he  felt 
really  very  unwell,  quite  weak  in  body  and 
mind.  Both  seemed  to  be  saying,  ''We've 
done  and  borne  enough  and  more  than  enough. 

[8] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


If  you  demand  anything  more  of  us  we  shall 
go  on  strike,  like  everyone  else." 

The  doctor  came  and  after  an  examination 
forbade  Derrick  to  undertake  any  more  work. 

"You're  quite  at  the  end  of  your  tether," 
he  said.  "Go  abroad.  Have  a  long  rest. 
I'll  write  you  out  a  certificate  and  you'll  have 
no  difficulty  about  getting  a  passport.  There's 
functional  disturbance  of  the  heart.  It's  not 
serious,  but  you  mustn't  play  with  it.  Un- 
less you  follow  my  advice  you're  in  for  a  com- 
plete nervous  breakdown." 

"Very  well;  I'll  go,"  said  Derrick. 

'Better  take  someone  with  you." 

"No,  thank  you.  To  tell  the  truth  I  long 
to  get  away  from  everybody,  to  see  only  new 
faces  which  won't  recognize  me.  I'm  aching 
for  a  little  bit  of  complete  personal  freedom." 

"Where  will  you  go?" 

"I'll  go — abroad!"  exclaimed  Derrick, 
drawing  a  long  breath.  "That  covers  every- 
thing!" 

The  doctor  smiled  and  wrote  out  the 
certificate. 

Not  many  days  later  Derrick  was  in  a 
crowded  train  starting  from  Boulogne  for 

[9] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

Paris.  From  Paris  he  meant  to  go  to  Mon- 
treux.  He  was  almost  fiercely  fond  of  the 
sun,  but  just  now  the  snows  attracted  him. 
After  all  the  weariness  of  war  he  longed  to 
look  on  the  vast  white  solitudes,  to  see  the 
peaks  in  the  blue,  to  hear  the  shuffle  of  the 
snow  dropping  from  the  branches  of  pine 
trees,  to  let  his  eyes  wander  along  the  glories 
of  the  autumn  woods  on  the  lower  slopes  of 
the  hills  which  guard  Lake  Leman.  And  he 
longed,  too,  to  be  in  a  country  which  had  not 
been  in  the  War.  So  he  resolved  to  travel  to 
Switzerland. 

Paris  was  a  nightmare,  a  phantasmagoria 
of  hurrying  people  who  looked  morbid  or  mad, 
and  who  seemed  unhinged  by  war  and  longing 
for  dreadful  repayments.  Derrick  stayed  there 
two  nights  and  hated  it.  To  him  it  seemed 
like  a  city  of  vultures. 

"If  this  is  what  war  makes  of  human  be- 
ings," he  thought,  as  he  sat  outside  the  Cafe 
de  la  Paix  observing  the  frantic  crowds,  "God 
help  humanity!" 

The  ugliness  of  the  expressions  on  most  of 
the  faces  almost  terrified  him.  He  drank  a 
cup  of  chocolate  and  was  charged  three  francs 

[10] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


fifty  by  the  waiter,  who  looked  indignant  when 
he  received  half  a  franc  as  a  tip  for  bringing 
the  cup.  Derrick  had  given  it  to  him  merely 
to  see  how  it  would  be  received. 

"Vultures!  Vultures!"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  left  the  cafe.  "The  War  has  turned  men 
and  women  into  birds  of  prey." 

In  the  evening  he  went  to  a  theatre  and  saw 
a  farce  full  of  stale  indecencies  at  which  a 
crowd  of  men  and  women  of  various  nationali- 
ties laughed  convulsively.  On  the  following 
day  he  escaped — that  was  his  feeling — from 
Paris.  He  was  now  on  his  way  to  a  country 
which  had  been  immune  from  the  horrors, 
though  not  from  many  of  the  annoyances  of 
war.  Already  he  felt  a  sense  of  relief.  His 
mind  travelled  on  leaving  the  train  behind,  on 
to  the  mountain  peaks,  the  snowfields,  the 
glaciers,  the  climbing  forests,  the  ravines  mu- 
sical with  rivers,  on  to  people  who  had  not 
had  the  hiieous  duty  of  killing  laid  upon  them. 
He  lay  back  in  his  seat  by  the  big  window 
watching  the  landscape  come  up  and  vanish, 
with  its  villages,  its  fields,  its  mysteries  of 
shadow  and  light,  its  winding  white  roads  with 
the  little  mysterious  travellers  upon  them 

EH] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

whom  he  would  never  know,  and  something  of 
the  old  glory  of  the  pre-War  life  seemed  to 
swim  over  him  and  to  possess  him.  Once  more 
he  felt  the  thrill  of  a  voyager's  freedom  at  his 
heart,  the  anticipation  of  the  haphazard,  the 
unexpected,  the  sense  of  adventure  which  turns 
back  the  nature  towards  boyhood. 

To  travel  again  after  five  years!  To  be 
sitting  in  a  big  express  on  foreign  soil,  rushing 
towards  a  frontier  and  away  from  all  the  du- 
ties of  the  immediate  past!  It  was  jolly  in- 
deed. The  schoolboy's  adjective  fitted  it. 
Derrick  fingered  his  passport  almost  with  an 
absurd  sensuality.  Then  he  took  it  out  and 
looked  at  the  photograph  of  himself  pasted 
on  it. 

He  saw  a  man  who  looked  about  fifty,  with 
a  broad  forehead,  grey  hair  inclined  to  be  curly, 
and  wide  opened,  rather  anxious,  brown  eyes. 
The  photographer  had  given  him  a  sort  of 
pinched  smirk  which  distorted  slightly  a  firm, 
rather  humorous  mouth,  above  which  was  a 
close-clipped  wiry  moustache.  An  energetic 
chin  gave  a  certain  look  of  power  to  the  face 
without  destroying  its  sensitiveness. 

"And  that  is  I!"  thought  Derrick.  "I've 
[12] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


aged  a  lot  since  the  War.  My  hair  looks 
infernally  grey.  The  photographer  has  given 
me  a  disgustingly  middle-class  smile,  like  a 
Clapham  tea-party,  but  he's  abolished  most 
of  my  lines.  Can  there  be  much  ahead  for 
that  man,  that  still  unmarried  man? 

Suddenly  the  thought  came  upon  him  that 
he  had  passed  irrevocably  the  happy  age  of 
adventure  which  travelling  suits  so  well. 
Little  flutters  are  easily  forgiven  to  youth, 
but  when  one  has  grey  hair,  a  definite  pucker 
between  the  eyebrows,  and  wrinkles — not  due 
really  to  the  habit  of  smiling — spraying  out 
beneath  the  corners  of  the  eyes,  one  must  aim 
at  the  undesired  dignities  which  are  supposed 
to  dress  up  suitably  the  man  who  has  passed 
his  prime.  Derrick  felt  as  if  he  heard  the 
shutting  of  doors  as  he  returned  the  passport 
to  its  leathern  case.  During  the  War,  with- 
out being  aware  of  it,  he  had  taken  a  leap 
from  the  age  of  still  possible  adventure  to 
the  age  of — what?  What  was  there  really 
left  for  such  a  man  as  he  was?  What  could 
the  freedom  of  travel  give  to  him,  after  all? 
The  license  to  drift  through  hotels,  to  sit 
solitary  in  restaurants  gazing  at  the  enjoyment 

[13] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

of  others,  of  lovers,  young  husbands  and 
wives,  parents  and  children,  to  wander  by  lake 
shores  or  on  mountain  sides  staring  at  the 
beauties  of  nature  which  in  their  wonder 
awaken  hungers  not  to  be  appeased  by  them, 
to  greet  starry  nights  alone  with  no  fear  of 
disturbance,  but  with  no  hope  of  affection's  ca- 
resses. Freedom!  Derrick  had  kept  his,  and 
now  he  was  going  to  pay  for  it. 

An  abrupt  and  intense  feeling  of  gloom 
overspread  him.  For  a  moment  he  almost 
wished  he  had  not  left  England.  There,  at 
any  rate  he  was  surrounded  by  friends,  by 
people  who  had  known  him  so  long  that  they 
accepted  him  just  as  he  was  without  either 
surprise  or  criticism.  Where  he  was  going  he 
would  probably  merely  be  glanced  at  with  the 
indifference  evoked  by  middle  age,  or  perhaps 
wondered  about,  or  even  coolly  pitied  as  a 
derelict,  grey-haired  creature  of  the  drifting 
type  that  haunts  foreign  hotels,  and  may  be 
seen  lounging  vaguely  in  smoking-rooms,  or 
pretending  to  read  a  book  while  sitting  over 
a  solitary  dinner  in  the  midst  of  talkative 
parties. 

Decidedly  the  War  had  played  the  devil 
[14] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


with  Derrick's  nervous  system,  turning  him  to 
a  pitiable  morbidity.  He  had  still  the  common 
sense  to  know  he  was  morbid,  but  that  knowl- 
edge did  not  help  him  much.  His  gloom  per- 
sisted and  even  increased,  till  he  came  to  the 
ridiculous  conclusion  that  a  middle-aged  bach- 
elor has  no  place  in  the  scheme  of  things,  that 
nobody  wants  him,  that  he  exists  merely  on 
sufferance  and  has  no  right  to  look  for  any 
real  happiness.  By  the  time  the  train  glided 
'"nto  the  station  of  Montreux  he  felt  like  a 
pariah,  and  he  got  out  of  his  carriage  with 
a  sort  of  dreadful  humility  which  seemed 
pleading  with  Switzerland  to  put  up  with  him 
in  spite  of  his  obvious  unworthiness. 

In  Montreux  he  stayed  at  the  Hotel  Mon- 
ney,  and  had  a  room  with  a  terrace  facing  the 
lake. 

It  was  grey  weather  that  day.  Clouds  hung 
on  the  mountain  sides,  hiding  the  snows.  The 
autumn  woods  covered  the  lower  slopes  with 
a  clinging  beauty  of  red,  russet-brown,  bril- 
liant yellow,  old  gold,  pale  pink  and  ash  colour. 
The  waters  of  the  lake  were  still.  A  few 
fishermen  were  out  in  small  boats  'bending  over 
their  lines. 

[15] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

Derrick  unpacked,  had  a  bath,  changed  his 
clothes  and  went  down  to  dejeuner,  which  he 
ate  in  the  small  restaurant  just  before  the 
great  dining-room.  The  train  had  arrived  late. 
He  found  himself  alone  in  the  restaurant. 
When  he  had  finished  his  meal  he  went  into  the 
reading-room,  picked  up  a  local  paper  and 
carried  it  into  the  smoking  room.  No  one  was 
there.  He  lit  a  cigar,  sat  down,  opened  the 
paper,  and  began  to  look  at  the  list  of  visitors 
in  the  many  hotels  and  pensions  of  Montreux. 
The  porter  had  told  him  that  Montreux  was 
not  very  full,  but  the  paper  seemed  to  give  the 
fellow  the  lie.  Derrick  read  columns  of  names, 
whose  owners  were  at  this  moment  established 
in  Montreux.  German  and  Russian  prin- 
cesses, Polish  counts,  Turkish  pashas,  Beys, 
Ukrainian  barons,  Bulgarians,  Rumanians, 
Austrians,  Serbians,  Montenegrins,  Armeni- 
ans, Georgians,  Czeko- Slovaks,  Italians,  Cir- 
cassians, announced  themselves  to  the  world 
as  staying  on  the  shores  of  the  lake.  Never 
before  had  Derrick  read  so  many  names  which 
he  would  have  found  it  impossible  to  pronounce 
correctly.  Having  nothing  to  do  he  read  the 

[16] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


whole  list  right  through  from  beginning  to- 
end. 

"I  must  go  out  presently  and  see  some  of 
these  people!"  he  thought.  "After  five  years 
of  England  it  ought  to  be  amusing." 

He  laid  the  paper  down. 

As  he  did  so  two  ladies  came  into  the  long 
room  from  the  hall.  One  of  them  was  tall,  with 
jet  black  hair,  black  eyes,  a  curiously  square 
face  and  irregular  features.  She  was  decidedly 
a  plain,  almost  an  ugly,  woman,  but  had  an  air 
of  intellect  and  marked  distinction.  She  was 
very  simply  but  very  well  dressed,  and  wore  a 
three-cornered  black  hat  and  white  kid  gloves. 
Round  her  neck  hung  several  ropes  of  pearls. 
Her  companion,  who  was  much  younger,  was 
fair,  small,  with  blue  eyes  and  silky  brown  hair. 
The  two  women  did  not  sit  down,  but  stood  to- 
gether near  the  end  of  the  room  in  earnest  con- 
versation. Presently  the  elder  woman  opened 
a  little  bag  which  hung  at  her  waist,  drew  from 
it  a  case  and  took  out  of  it  a  cigarette  and  a 
long  cigarette  holder.  With  a  certain  delicate 
precision,  which  was  evidently  characteristic  of 
her,  she  put  the  cigarette  into  the  holder  and 
looked  round  for  a  match.  She  pointed  to  at 

[17] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

table  at  a  little  distance,  and  her  companion 
went  towards  it,  but  evidently  found  no 
matches,  for  she  shrugged  her  sloping  shoul- 
ders and  made  a  moue  and  a  gesture  of  disap- 
pointment. 

At  this  point  Derrick  got  up,  walked  down 
the  room,  made  a  non-committal  sort  of  bow, 
and  said  in  French: 

"May  I  give  you  a  match,  madame?" 

"You  are  too  good,  monsieur,"  said  the  elder 
of  the  two  ladies  in  French.  "Unless  I  can 
smoke  I  am  very  unhappy." 

Derrick  lit  a  match.  She  bent  forward,  with 
the  holder  between  her  lips,  and  he  lit  her  cig- 
arette. 

As  he  did  this  the  lady's  large  black  eyes 
met  his  for  an  instant,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  her  mind  was  in  close  contact  with  his, 
that  it  said  to  his  mind  something  like  this : 

"So!  It  is  at  Montreux  that  you  and  I  had 
to  meet!  I  could  not  go  to  England  to  you, 
and  so  you  have  come  to  Switzerland  to  me!" 

So  strong  was  his  sensation  that  she  was 
silently  speaking  to  him  that  he  actually 
opened  his  lips  to  make  some — he  didn't  know 
what — reply.  But  he  was,  as  it  were,  inter- 

[18] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


rupted  by  the  lady,  who  said,  with  a  slight  smile 

of  half  melancholy  politeness : 

"Thank  you,  monsieur,  you  are  too  kind." 
A  moment  later  he  was  back  in  his  place  at 

the  other  end  of  the  room. 


[19] 


CHAPTER  II 

THAT  afternoon  Derrick  put  on  his  hat  and 
coat  and  went  out  for  a  walk.  It  was  excep- 
tionally cold  that  day,  and  he  distinctly  felt 
the  breath  of  snow  in  the  air.  Looking  up 
towards  the  mountains  behind  the  small  town 
he  saw  the  great  hotel  at  Caux  above  Territet 
vaguely  defined  through  the  tattered  skirts  of 
the  clouds.  White  patches  lay  around  it  and 
just  below  it.  To-morrow  he  would  go  up 
there  and  walk  in  the  snow.  There  was  a  great 
tent  pitched  on  the  place  near  the  lake.  Little 
boys  were  gathered  about  it,  and  an  orchestra 
was  playing  loudly  a  march  from  "Ai'da." 
Derrick  read  the  announcement  of  a  circus. 
Perhaps  he  would  visit  it  that  night.  It  would 
be  something  to  do.  He  walked  on  and  passed 
many  smart  shops.  A  good  many  people  were 
about  walking  slowly  and  well  wrapped  up, 
evidently  taking  their  "constitutionals."  He 
looked  at  them,  trying  to  guess  what  nations 
they  belonged  to.  One  enormously  fat  man, 

[20] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


with  a  great  white  face,  shining  dark  eyes,  and 
big  carefully  waxed  moustaches,  was  probably 
an  Armenian.  He  looked  as  if  he  had  just 
been  powdered,  like  a  baby,  and  thoroughly 
manicured.  A  wrinkled  old  woman  went  by, 
carefully  tinted  the  colour  of  magenta.  She 
carried  a  gold-headed  cane,  and  was  accom- 
panied by  a  griffon.  What  was  she?  Per- 
haps an  Ukrainian  or  a  Czeko-Slovak.  Some 
Germans  were  promenading.  They  looked 
quite  serene,  even  comfortable,  not  at  all  like 
people  who  had  just  lost  a  war.  No  doubt  they 
were  thankful  to  be  safely  out  of  their  own 
country.  Derrick  turned  and  went  back,  walk- 
ing now  in  the  direction  of  Vevey. 

He  passed  his  hotel  and  went  on  towards 
the  Montreux  Palace  Hotel.  When  he  reached 
the  Arcade  he  saw  in  front  of  him  the  two 
ladies  of  the  Monney  Hotel.  The  elder  one 
was  wrapped  up  in  furs.  She  had  a  very  dis- 
tinctive walk.  Even  the  way  in  which  she 
moved  suggested  authority  and  high  breeding. 
What  nation  did  she  belong  to?  Derrick 
thought  she  might  be  a  Hungarian.  That  she 
was  an  aristocrat  he  was  quite  certain.  Her 
companion,  he  thought,  might  be  German. 

[21] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

At  the  end  of  the  Arcade  the  two  ladies 
paused.  Thin  snow  was  beginning  to  fall. 
They  turned  and  met  him  in  the  Arcade.  As 
he  passed  them  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  they 
both  bowed  slightly. 

The  pearls  round  the  neck  of  the  elder 
woman  were  hidden  by  the  fur  coat  she  wore. 

Derrick  wondered  why  he  had  thought  of 
them. 

That  evening,  just  before  dinner,  he  had  a 
talk  with  the  director  of  the  hotel,  an  intelli- 
gent and  agreeable  man  who  knew  Montreux 
like  his  pocket.  The  director  gave  Derrick  a 
brief  history  of  the  social  conditions  in  Mon- 
treux at  the  moment. 

"They  are  quite  abnormal,  monsieur,"  he 
said.  "Many  of  the  people  here  are  refugees. 
We  have  Russian  aristocrats  who  are  utterly 
ruined  living  in  the  best  hotels,  Turks  who 
have  escaped  from  their  decaying  country, 
Germans  and  Austrians  who  would  as  soon  be 
in  hell  as  in  Berlin,  which  is  a  playground  for 
bandits,  or  starving  Vienna.  (For  make  no 
mistake,  monsieur,  Vienna  is  literally  starv- 
ing.) We  have  here" — he  lowered  his  voice 
cautiously — "spies  whose  occupation  is  lucra- 

[22] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


tive  no  longer,  but  who  still  hope  to  find  some- 
thing shady  to  do.  There  are  princesses  here 
without  a  halfpenny.  You  know  the  condition 
of  the  exchange  and  what  the  German  mark 
and  the  Austrian  krone  are  worth.  As  for  the 
Russian  rouble!"  He  threw  up  his  hands. 
"You  may  meet  in  the  street  any  day  diplo- 
matists who  haven't  the  money  to  pay  for  a  new 
pair  of  trousers,  Muscovites  who  own  large 
tracts  of  land  in  Russia  and  who  now  are  little 
better  than  the  beggars  at  Italian  street  cor- 
ners. (In  Montreux,  of  course,  there  are  no 
beggars.)  The  Greeks  here  are  all  fanatical 
adherents  of  ex-King  Constantine,  and  have 
followed  him  into  exile.  Most  of  them,  per- 
haps all,  would  give  thanks  to  God  if  they 
heard  that  a  knife  had  found  its  way  by  chance 
into  the  body  of  Monsieur  Venezelos.  Then 
we  have  Armenians  who  probably  are  only 
alive  at  this  moment  because  they  are  beyond 
Turkish  territory.  You  may  see  them  eating 
pastries,  twenty,  thirty  at  a  time,  side  by  side 
with  the  Turks  in  our  tea-rooms.  We  have,  of 
course — thank  Heaven  for  it — a  few  war  prof- 
iteers here.  They  help  to  keep  the  shopkeepers 
going,  gamble  at  the  Casino,  and  put  some 

[23] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

money  into  our  poor  pockets  by  drinking 
champagne  in  the  hotels.  But  never  has  Mon- 
treux  been  like  this  before.  If  one  could  only 
get  right  under  the  surface  here,  mon  Dieu, 
what  tragedies  would  be  revealed!  Imagine 
people  of  the  greatest  families  living  in  our 
hotels — which  I  think  I  may  say  are  the  best 
in  Europe — without  two  halfpennies — of  their 
own,  bien  entendu — to  rub  together  and  with- 
out any  hope  of  having  two  halfpennies  of  their 
own  in  future  time.  What  a  position!" 

"Well,  but  how  on  earth  can  they  live  in 
hotels?" 

"Ah,  monsieur,  how  can  they?  How  do 
they?  I  know  the  world  pretty  well,  but  it 
is  often  a  puzzle  to  me  how  half  the  world 
lives.  How  do  these  people  who  are  ruined 
by  the  War  live  as  they  do  here?  How  do 
they  pay  for  chocolate  and  cakes  in  the  tea- 
shops,  for  concert  tickets  at  the  Casino  ?  Tenez ! 
There  is  a  concert  to-night,  Madame  Litvinne, 
a  great  artiste.  If  you  go  there  you  will  see 
them,  the  living  mysteries,  who  live  without 
having  the  means  to  live,  as  one  might  say. 
Between  the  parts  of  the  concert  they  will  risk 
something — which  they  haven't  got,  so  to  speak 

[24] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


— at  the  tables.  Of  course,  the  limit  here  is 
ridiculous,  as  you  know.  But  even  five  francs 
is  five  francs,  n'est  ce  pas?" 

"But  surely  they  must  have  money?" 

"Monsieur,  they  get  it — somehow.  They  sell 
things.  You  can  buy  jewels  in  Montreux 
cheap,  very  cheap.  And  if  you  can  carry  them 
to  London  there  is  a  nice  profit  for  you.  And 
they  sell — other  things."  He  looked  very  ex- 
pressive. "Ah,  the  world!  And  some,  with 
very  great  names,  are  taken  into  the  hotels 
very  cheap,  for  next  to  nothing.  They  are 
reclame,  you  understand,  for  the  hotels.  And 
then " 

But  at  this  point  of  his  discourse  a  secre- 
tary hurried  up,  and  the  director,  with  a  "Par- 
don, m'sieul  Au  revoir!"  turned  away. 

Derrick  moved  to  go  into  dinner.  He  had 
decided  to  live  en  pension,  so  he  dined  in  the 
big  room  at  a  fixed  hour,  a  quarter  past  seven. 
When  he  had  found  his  table  he  saw  sitting 
close  to  him  the  two  ladies  who  were  already 
drinking  their  soup.  They  were  smartly 
dressed  and  wore  hats.  He  wondered  whether 
they  were  going  to  the  concert  that  night. 
They  were  surely  not  dressed  like  that  for  the 

[25] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

circus.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  the  con- 
cert. It  might  be  interesting  to  see  the  liv- 
ing mysteries.  The  elder  lady,  who  was  oppo- 
site to  him,  wore  the  pearls.  As  he  glanced  at 
them  he  thought  of  the  director's  remark  about 

jewels.  Could  she  be But  he  put  the 

idea  from  him.  He  simply  could  not  imagine 
a  woman  of  her  type  as  a  pauper.  She  looked 
as  if  all  the  good  things,  the  really  distin- 
guished things  that  make  life  a  song  instead 
of  a  street  cry,  must  be  hers  by  right.  Some 
things  are  so  unsuitable  that  they  just  cannot 
happen.  Such  women  cannot  be  allowed  to  be 
poor. 

As  he  thought  this  he  saw  the  big  black  eyes 
looking  at  him  and  again  he  felt  that  their 
owner's  mind  was  somehow  in  direct  communi- 
cation with  his.  An  agreeable  thrill  went 
through  him.  He  was  emancipated  from  his 
morbidity  of  the  train. 

"After  all,  perhaps  I  am  not  too  old,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "She  seems  to  feel  some  in- 
terest in  me." 

And  he  remembered  that  there  are  women 
who  like  grey  hair  on  the  head  of  a  man,  and 
that  there  are  other  women  in  the  world  be- 

[26] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


sides  flappers.  For  the  middle-aged  man  who 
is  attracted  by  flappers  there  is  literally  no 
hope  on  this  earth.  But  Derrick  honestly 
thought  flappers  bores,  and  liked  women  of  the 
world. 

How  old  was  she?  Forty,  probably;  per- 
haps even  more.  But  he  was  positive  she  was 
a  very  interesting  and  very  clever  woman. 
Even  her  ugliness — it  almost  amounted  to  that 
— attracted  him.  He  was  sure  that  she  did 
not  mind  it,  never  had  minded  it.  She  was  too 
aristocratic  to  be  cast  down  by  a  trifle  of  that 
kind.  No  doubt  she  had  read  history,  memoirs 
— he  could  see  her  reading  memoirs — and  re- 
membered the  Princess  Metternich,  and  many 
other  ugly  women  who  had  ruled  society  with 
the  rods  of  wit  and  of  will. 

The  two  ladies  finished  dinner  before  Der- 
rick and  left  the  dining-room.  As  they  went 
out  they  bowed  to  several  of  the  people  at  the 
other  tables,  and  Derrick  noticed  that  their 
salutes  were  returned  with  a  smiling  eagerness 
by  the  women  and  with  marked  deference  by 
the  men. 

"I  must  find  out  who  they  are,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

[27] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

After  dinner  he  hoped  to  see  them  about, 
but  he  was  disappointed.  He  smoked  a  cigar, 
put  on  his  coat  and  hat  and  started  off  on 
foot  to  the  Casino. 

By  the  tent  door  the  orchestra  was  blaring, 
and  people  were  pouring  in  to  see  the  sensa- 
tional feats  of  the  famous  Knie  family.  For  a 
moment  Derrick  hesitated.  He  was  fond  of 
a  good  circus.  The  sawdust  and  the  horizontal 
bars  appealed  to  something  boyish  which  still 
lingered  in  the  depths  of  his  nature.  But  she 
would  certainly  not  be  there.  He  walked  on 
and  found  his  way  to  the  Casino. 

The  big  powdered  baby  with  the  moustaches 
entered  it  just  in  front  of  him,  showing  a  mar- 
vellous coloured  waistcoat  with  diamond  but- 
tons. In  the  hall  were  living  mysteries  of  all 
nations.  He  bought  a  stall  for  the  concert 
which  was  just  going  to  begin.  Madame  Lit- 
vinne  had  already  arrived  from  the  Palace  Ho- 
tel with  her  accompanist.  When  he  found  his 
seat  he  saw  that  the  two  people  he  was  in 
search  of — for  really  hadn't  it  come  to  that  ? — 
were  sitting  exactly  in  front  of  him.  He  could 
hear  them  talking  from  his  seat.  They  were 
speaking  in — for  a  moment  he  feared  it  was 

[28] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


German,  the  forbidden  language — but  no,  it 
was  something  else.  Polish  perhaps,  or  Rus- 
sian. Finally  he  made  up  his  mind  it  was  Rus- 
sian. For  there  was  something  soft  and  liquid 
about  it,  a  fluidity,  a  gliding  roundness  which 
he  associated  with  Russian.  This  pleased  him, 
for  Russia,  whatever  she  was  now,  had  been  an 
ally.  And  these  ladies  could  certainly  not  be 
Bolsheviks.  They  did  not  notice  him.  They 
were  deep  in  conversation.  The  elder  lady 
spoke  much  more  than  her  younger  companion, 
quickly,  with  a  certain  soft  violence,  as  if  she 
were  feeling  something  intensely,  but  had  not 
forgotten  that  she  was  in  a  public  place.  Mean- 
while the  room  filled  up  quickly. 

Baby  stood  up  expansively  in  the  front  row, 
showing  the  waistcoat  and  diamonds,  bowing 
and  smiling  to  friends  in  the  audience.  He 
looked  like  one  whose  soul  was  made  of  the 
very  best  pastry,  and  who  would  eventually 
soar  on  sticky  wings  to  a  chocolate  heaven. 
Derrick  felt  sure  he  was  enormously  rich  and 
probably  generous,  for  his  very  definite  wiles 
were  gladly  responded  to  by  many  enigmas  in 
the  audience,  by  strange  wrinkled  old  ladies, 
by  younger  women  rosy  with  paint,  or  dead 

[29] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

white,  like  clowns,  with  scarlet  lips,  by  dark, 
doubtful-looking  young  men,  and  by  people 
of  uncertain  age  and  both  sexes,  who  had  the 
curious  cosmopolitan  look  which  marks  wan- 
dering beings  who  live  for  ever  in  big  hotels, 
and  whom  one  can  never  think  of  as  at  home. 
He  was  still  bowing  and  smiling  and  waving 
his  manicured  hands  when  the  great  Litvinne 
walked  slowly  on  to  the  platform,  with  her 
calm  and  ample  grace,  followed  by  a  clever- 
looking  dark  girl  who  sat  down  at  the  piano. 

The  two  women  in  front  of  Derrick  stopped 
talking,  and,  after  a  rustle  from  the  audience 
and  a  corpulent  volte-face  by  baby,  the  concert 
began. 

When  the  first  part  was  over  almost  every- 
body in  the  room  got  up.  There  was  to  be  a 
long  interval  in  order  that  people  might  have 
time  for  a  "flutter"  at  the  tables.  Derrick 
went  out  at  once  with  the  crowd  and  made  his 
way  to  the  "Boule."  He  did  not  mean  to  play^ 
but  to  smoke  a  cigarette  and  watch. 

Only  one  table  was  in  use  that  evening,  and 
people  eagerly  gathered  round  it,  and  began 
to  place  small  sums  on  the  different  numbers 
while  the  ball  was  set  in  motion.  Derrick  sat 

[30] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


down  by  the  other  table  and  looked  across  the 
"Boule"  at  the  players  and  those  who  stood  be- 
hind them.  There  was  not  the  intent  and  arid 
solemnity  here  which  he  had  always  been  struck 
by  at  Monte  Carlo.  The  maximum  at  the 
Casino  was  only  five  francs.  Nevertheless,  as 
the  director  of  the  Monney  had  said,  five  francs 
is  five  francs.  When  he  had  seen  two  or  three 
people  lose  their  money  Derrick  began  to 
realize  more  fully  the  inner  truth  of  that  ob- 
servation. Some  of  the  players  were  no  doubt 
among  the  ruined  who  made  their  home  at 
Montreux.  Their  faces  seemed  to  show  it  aft 
their  small  stakes  were  indifferently  swept 
away  by  the  sulky-looking  croupier. 

The  fat  Armenian — if  he  were  an  Armenian, 
as  Derrick  believed — staked  and  won  five  times 
in  succession.  His  large  powdered  face  was 
wreathed  in  smiles.  A  brick-red  Englishman 
near  him  cast  a  look  of  contempt  at  his  joy  and 
shoved  two  francs  on  to  "Impair." 

At  this  moment  Derrick  was  aware  of  some- 
one standing  behind  him.  He  looked  quickly 
round,  and  saw  the  fair,  silky -haired  woman  of 
the  Monney.  She  was  alone,  and  was  looking 

[31] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

at  the  ball,  which  had  just  been  thrown  in,  with 
a  coldly  critical  expression  on  her  face. 

"Sept!"  Derrick  presently  heard  her  say,  as 
if  to  herself.  "Sept!" 

The  ball  rolled  into  "cinq,"  rolled  out, 
seemed  to  hesitate,  like  one  considering  which 
of  two  courses  to  take,  and  finally  came  to  rest 
in  number  seven. 

"So!"  said  the  voice  behind  Derrick. 

And  the  fair  woman  passed  on,  mingled  with 
the  crowd  round  the  opposite  table,  and,  with 
a  very  definite  obstinacy,  which  suggested  a 
ruthless  nature,  forced  her  way  into  the  front 
and  began  to  play. 

"She  is  surely  a  German!"  thought  Derrick. 

She  was  young  and  pretty,  but  he  did  not 
like  her  face  very  much.  The  cheekbones  were 
high  and  almost  too  pink,  he  thought;  the  large 
blue  eyes  were  steady  and  cold  as  electric  light. 
The  expression  on  her  face  was  acutely  dis- 
satisfied. She  staked  the  maximum  on  seven, 
and  four  came  up.  Then  she  staked  on  four 
and  seven  came  up.  She  pressed  her  lips  to- 
gether and  staked  again  on  four,  and  lost. 
Then  she  changed  to  eight,  and  the  ball  chose 
to  stop  on  two.  Her  face  now  began  to  show 

[32] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


an  almost  fierce  obstinacy,  and  she  cast  a  look 
of  hatred  at  the  ball  as  it  was  again  thrown  in* 
This  time  she  did  not  play,  and  eight  was  the 
winning  number.  Thereupon,  with  a  sort  of 
almost  fierce  resolution,  she  put  the  maximum 
on  eight,  and  nine  came  up. 

Derrick  had  often  watched  gamblers  playing 
for  large  sums  at  Monte  Carlo  and  elsewhere, 
but  he  had  never  before  felt  so  acutely  the  ex- 
asperation which  the  vagaries  of  chance  can 
rouse  in  the  human  mind. 

And  yet  he  had  not  been  playing,  and  he 
felt — he  did  not  know  why — almost  hostile  to 
the  woman  he  had  been  watching. 

A  bell  rang.  In  a  moment  the  tables  were 
deserted.  He  followed  the  fair-haired  woman 
back  to  the  concert-room.  Her  companion  was 
just  returning  to  her  seat  from  the  other  side 
of  the  room,  and  as  the  two  met  Derrick  heard 
her  say  in  French:  "I  found  Litvinne.  What 
a  charming  woman!" 

The  other  replied  with  a  torrent  of  Russian. 
[(By  this  time  Derrick  felt  sure  it  was  Rus- 
sian.) She  gesticulated  as  she  talked.  Her 
friend  listened,  looking  at  her  with  a  sort  of 
stern  intent  ness,  the  black  eyes  steady,  the  long 

[33] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

lips  pressed  together  and  lifted,  drawing  up 
the  chin.  Then  she  moved  her  head  several 
times,  giving  a  strong  impression  of  fatalistic 
resignation,  somehow  combined  with  irony. 
Finally  she  interrupted  the  torrent  of  speech 
with  an  Italian  word  which  Derrick  had  very 
often  heard  cried  out  in  Roman  theatres. 

"Basta!    Basta!"  she  said. 

And  she  struck  her  breast  with  both  hands 
twice,  drawing  down  her  black  eyebrows.  The 
other  broke  off  in  a  long  murmur  as  Litvinne 
returned  to  the  platform  and  was  welcomed 
with  a  discreet  applause. 

In  the  second  part  of  the  concert  she  sang, 
among  many  other  things,  Faure's  well-known 
"Les  Roses  d'Ispahan,"  with  its  faint  and 
creeping  nostalgia,  its  delicate  and  almost 
vaporous  sentimentality,  which  suggests  a  ling- 
ering perfume  hanging  in  warm  air  at  the  twi- 
light hour.  Directly  this  song  was  over  the 
black-haired  lady  slowly  turned  her  head  and 
looked  for  an  instant  at  Derrick.  He  realized 
at  once  that  she  had  known  since  the  beginning 
of  the  concert  that  he  was  sitting  behind  her, 
although  she  had  certainly  never  looked  at  him 
before.  He  returned  her  glance  steadily,  and, 

[34] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


while  he  did  so,  he  felt  positive  that  something 
of  Asia  dwelt  in  her,  that  Europe  and  Asia 
mingled  in  her  as  they  do  in  so  many  Russians. 
She  would  surely  be  at  home  among  the  roses 
of  Persia  with  a  volume  of  Hafiz  in  her  hands. 
She  gave  him  no  sign  of  recognition.  There 
was  something  Eastern  in  the  unwinking  im- 
personal stare  of  her  long  eyes.  Her  com- 
panion spoke  to  her,  and  she  moved  slowly,  but 
Derrick  felt  as  if  her  eyes  were  still  fixed  upon 
him,  even  when  he  could  see  them  no  longer. 

"That  woman  intends  to  know  me,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "Why?" 

He  did  not  know,  but  he  knew  that  he 
wanted  to  talk  to  her,  to  find  out  something 
about  her.  She  was  not,  perhaps,  wholly  sym- 
pathetic to  him,  but  she  interested  him  im- 
mensely. And  she  had  roused  him  out  of  his 
morbid  mood  and  given  him  a  nice  little  niche 
in  his  own  estimation. 

"She's  a  remarkable  woman,"  he  said  to 
himself,  with  conviction. 

Although  he  had  a  sense  of  humour,  he  for- 
got to  ask  himself  whether  he  would  have 
thought  her  remarkable  if  she  had  shown  no 
interest  in  him. 

[35] 


CHAPTER  III 

'ON  the  following  day  it  was  exceptionally 
cold  for  the  time  of  year  in  Montreux,  the 
snow  was  dense  on  the  mountain  side  as  far 
as  Glion,  and  Derrick  decided  to  carry  out  his 
intention  of  the  previous  day  and  to  go  up 
into  the  white  world  above  Caux.  The  train 
on  the  mountain  railway  started  before  eleven, 
but  he  felt  active  and  impatient  to  be  off,  and 
resolved  to  walk  up,  and  perhaps  come  down  by 
train.  So  he  put  on  a  pair  of  strong  boots, 
took  a  stick  with  an  iron  point,  and  set  off 
about  half -past  nine. 

He  had  slept  well ;  the  brisk  pure  air  invig- 
orated him,  and  he  felt  more  of  the  joy  of 
living  than  he  had  felt  for  a  long  time.  As 
he  walked  on,  leaving  the  houses  below  him, 
and  turning  now  and  then,  as  the  road  wound 
upwards,  to  look  out  over  the  lake,  blue  to-day 
in  the  sunshine,  and  the  panorama  of  moun- 
tains that  gathered  about  the  entrance  to  the 
Simplon,  he  tasted  fully  his  present  freedom. 

[36] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


As  a  Special  Constable  he  had  had  to  pace 
Grosvenor  Square  for  hours  at  a  time,  be- 
tween the  Italian  and  American  Embassies. 
The  monotony  of  it  had  sometimes  driven  him 
almost  to  desperation.  But  now  he  could  be 
glad  of  that  duty  left  behind  in  the  past.  It 
gave  a  sharp  edge  to  the  zest  he  felt  in  his 
present  situation.  He  was  free  at  last !  And 
he  revelled  in  his  freedom  and  even  in  his 
solitude  of  the  moment.  His  cheeks  glowed. 
He  drew  in  the  air  from  the  snows  he  was  near- 
ing.  As  he  mounted  steadily  he  felt  the  snow 
like  a  friend  waiting  for  him  up  there  on  the 
heights.  The  clouds  drew  away.  The  great 
hotel  at  Caux  stood  out  clear  beneath  the  blue. 
Soon  he  set  his  feet  in  the  snow  and  struck  the 
tip  of  his  stick  on  a  film  of  ice. 

After  passing  through  Glion  he  was  deep  in 
the  radiant  winter.  Some  boys  were  joyously 
tobogganing  down  the  road.  As  they  passed 
him  swiftly,  shooting  at  the  stranger  glances 
of  pride,  their  cries  rang  out  in  the  still  air, 
and  died  away  in  the  distance.  Soon  he  was 
quite  alone  in  the  snow-covered  woods.  The 
silence  of  which  he  had  dreamed  in  London 
was  his  possession.  It  was  heavy  walking  now, 

[37] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

but  he  ploughed  his  way  upward  with  steady 
energy,  meeting  no  one  on  his  way.  Evi- 
dently he  was  the  only  person  in  all  Montreux 
who  had  imagination  enough  to  care  for  this 
beautiful  world.  There  were  no  cake-shops 
here.  That  no  doubt  accounted  for  humanity's 
absence.  But  the  remembrance  of  cake-shops 
made  him  suddenly  realize  that  he  was  getting 
infernally  hungry.  The  big  hotel  at  Caux  was 
shut.  The  concierge  at  the  hotel  had  told  him 
so.  Suppose  that  no  restaurant  were  open? 
He  couldn't  help  smiling  ironically  as  he  real- 
ized that  he  and  the  Armenian  were,  after  all, 
brothers  when  it  came  to  a  question  of  food. 

He  reached  Caux  at  last,  and  made  straight 
for  the  little  hotel  which  stands  to  the  left  of 
the  road.  '  There  was  not  a  soul  about,  but  the 
door  yielded  to  his  touch,  and  he  passed  into 
an  empty  hall.  Beyond  was  a  restaurant,  also 
quite  empty.  There  was  no  central  heating 
on,  and  the  bare  rooms  were  cold,  but  he  saw 
white  cloths  on  some  tables  and  hope  leaped 
up  in  him.  He  knocked  hard  with  his  stick  on 
the  wooden  floor,  and  in  a  moment  a  woman 
appeared  looking  rather  surprised.  In  answer 
to  his  question  she  told  him  that  there  was  no 

[38] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


meat  in  the  house  but  ham.  But  he  could  have 
ham,  eggs  sur  le  plat,  potatoes,  cheese  and  a 
bottle  of  wine  if  he  would  wait  a  little. 

"Have  it  ready  in  half  an  hour,  madame!" 
he  said.  "Meanwhile  I'll  stroll  up  above  the 
hotel,  and  see  what  it  looks  like  for  skiing. 
Nobody  here?" 

"No,  m'sieu.  But  one  or  two  may  come  in. 
The  morning  train  goes  no  further  than  Glion, 
but  there's  a  train  down  from  here  in  the  after- 
noon. And  now  and  then  people  get  out  at 
Glion,  walk  up  here,  take  the  dejeuner  and 
catch  the  train  back.  On  a  day  like  this  we 
often  get  someone." 

"Ah!    In  half  an  hour,  then?" 
"Bien,  m'sieu.    It  shall  be  ready." 
Derrick  left  her  and  was  soon  once  more 
alone  in  the  snow. 

He  turned  to  the  left,  passed  a  chalet  with 
a  yard  in  which  two  rosy-cheeked  men  were  un- 
loading wood,  and  walked  on  till  he  was  quite 
alone,  out  of  sight  of  all  habitations.  Before 
him  stretched  the  vast  snowfields  glittering  in 
the  sun;  above  him  were  the  mountain  tops. 
Behind  him  were  the  snow-covered  trees,  stand- 
ing thickly  together,  bearing  their  burdens  in 

[39] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

breathless  silence.  He  stood  still  for  a  long 
while,  and  something  of  the  tranquillity  of  win- 
ter seemed  to  be  in  his  soul.  Far  down  below 
him  lay  Montreux  with  its  strange  population ; 
the  war  profiteers,  the  reclame  princesses,  the 
pastry-loving  Turks  and  Armenians,  the  old 
ladies  painted  magenta,  the  enigmatic  girls 
with  white,  but  not  snow-white,  faces,  the 
ruined  diplomatists,  the  pathetic,  yet  ridic- 
ulous gamblers.  And  here  were  the  moun- 
tains, the  forests,  the  snows  and  the  silence; 
here  was  nature  remote,  terrifically  remote 
from  man  and  his  follies,  holding  herself  aloof 
as  if  with  a  conscious  and  superb  disdain.  To 
Derrick  just  then  it  seemed  as  if  there  were 
something  profoundly  spiritual  in  nature, 
which,  if  only  man  could  reach  out  to  it,  would 
purify  him,  purge  him  for  ever  of  his  crimes 
and  his  ignorance,  show  him  how  he  might 
walk  intimately  with  God. 

But  how  to  reach  out  to  it?  That  was  the 
problem. 

Behind  Derrick  a  load  of  snow  slipped  from 
the  branch  of  a  fir  tree  and  fell  into  the  forest 
depth  with  a  muffled  and  very  personal  sound. 
He  waited  a  moment  more.  He  knew  he  would 

[40] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


never  forget  that  moment.  Five  years  of  war 
had  been  necessary  to  make  it  just  what  it  was 
to  him,  intense,  strange,  almost  cruelly  beauti- 
ful. The  moment  took  its  place  in  the  past. 
He  swung  round  and  strode  back  to  the  inn. 

When  he  got  there,  and  had  left  his  hat  and 
stick — he  kept  on  his  overcoat — in  the  hall,  he 
saw  that  the  restaurant  was  no  longer  empty. 
At  a  table  by  the  window  a  lady  in  a  long  fur 
coat  was  sitting  with  her  back  to  him.  He 
could  not  see  her  face,  but  he  knew  at  once  who 
it  was.  A  ring  of  cigarette  smoke  rose  and 
evaporated  in  the  air  above  her  table. 

"Unless  I  can  smoke  I  am  very  unhappy." 

So — this  was  how  they  had  to  make  each 
other's  acquaintance,  up  in  the  snows ! 

Derrick  had  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do. 
He  felt  for  his  card-case,  found  it  and  drew 
out  a  card.  The  lady  had  not  looked  round. 
He  walked  up  to  her  table. 

"Madame,  forgive  me " 

The  lady  looked  up  without  any  surprise. 

"May  I  venture  to  give  you  my  name,  as  we 
are  at  the  same  hotel  at  Montreux,  and  have 
already  spoken  to  each  other?" 

"Merci,  monsieur," 

[41] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

She  took  the  card  and  read  his  name.  Then 
she  said  in  English,  but  with  a  very  strong  for- 
eign accent: 

"I  am  one  of  the  teacherous  Russians  whom 
you  English  despise,  no  doubt.  I  am  Princess 
Aranensky." 

"Many  of  us  pity,  rather  than  condemn, 
Russia.  We  know  what  thousands  of  Russians 
have  suffered." 

"Russia  is  a  cold  hell,"  she  said.  "Torture, 
rape,  robbery,  murder,  in  darkness,  rain,  mist, 
snow.  But  I  have  not  seen  Russia  for  eight 
years  or  more.  As  Turgenev  did,  I  live 
abroad,  and  so,  perhaps,  cannot  claim  to  be 
what  is  called  a  good  Russian.  Ah,  here  are 
my  eggs!" 

At  this  moment  the  woman  of  the  house 
came  in  with  the  Princess's  d&jeuner.  As  she 
arranged  it  on  the  table  she  said  to  Derrick : 

"I  will  bring  yours  immediately,  monsieur." 

"There  is  room  for  it  here — if  you  like," 
said  the  Princess  in  a  casual  way  to  Derrick. 
"We  are  the  only  two.  Why  should  we  not  eat 
together?  We  are  both  of  us  too  old  to  be 
conventional.  My  bottle  of  wine?" 

"I  have  not  forgotten  it,  madame." 
[42] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


The  woman  hurried  away.  Derrick  sat 
down  opposite  to  the  Princess. 

"You  walked  up  all  the  way  from  Glion?" 
he  said. 

"That  is  nothing.  I  often  do  it.  In  Mon- 
treux  I  feel  squeezed.  But  I  have  been  there 
all  through  the  War.  Imagine — that  street, 
the  Casino,  the  tea-shops,  the  old  ladies,  the 
consumptive  man  who  plays  the  zither,  for 
more  than  five  years!" 

"Then  I  suppose  that  now  the  frontiers  are 
open 

"That  makes  no  difference  to  me.  I  cannot 
leave  Montreux.  I  am  too  poor.  Ah,  here  is 
your  food  and  our  two  bottles  of  wine!  This 
air  makes  one  hungry,  doesn't  it?" 

She  was  eating  with  delicate  energy  and  ob- 
vious enjoyment.  Now  she  poured  out  a  glass 
of  white  wine. 

"I  like  its  pale  colour,"  she  said.  "Wine  is 
the  blood  of  a  country.  For  myself  I  say  'a 
bas  les  Pussyfoots !' ' 

"What — you  read  our  papers?" 

"Of  course.  I  read  everything.  What  else 
have  I  to  do?  For  the  last  five  years  I  have 
been  reading,  studying,  forgetting  Montreux 

[43] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

and  its  cake-shops  in  my  sitting-room  at  the 
Eden,  the  Montreux  palace,  the  Lorius  and 
now  the  Monney.  Reading  is  the  one  pleasure 
of  paupers  like  me." 

"And  smoking?" 

"And  smoking.  I  come  up  here  to  think 
about  what  I  have  read,  and  to  get  away  from 
humanity,  which  at  Montreux  is  une  scdbreuse 
comedie.  We  are  all  riff-raff  there,  not  by 
birth,  perhaps — that  is  an  accident — but  be- 
cause of  the  way  we  live  and  the  effect  of  war 
upon  us.  We  haven't  fought,  though  some  of 
us  have  intrigued,  we  haven't  stuck  to  our  coun- 
tries in  their  adversity.  We  have  just  sat  in 
hotels  and  hated  the  War,  and  worried  about 
the  exchange,  and  got  poorer  and  poorer,  and 
cursed  and  gone  to  the  tea-shops,  and  gambled 
with  five-franc  pieces.  Moral  riff-raff — that  is 
what  we  are.  And  so  I  come  up  into  the  snows 
now  and  then!  It  makes  me  no  better,  per- 
haps. But  it  pleases  me.  Being  alone  with 
cushions — one  furnishes  a  hotel  sitting  room 
with  cushions,  if  one  is  a  woman — is  loneliness ; 
being  alone  with  Nature  is  solitude.  The  dif- 
ference is  vast.  I  even  forget  my  empty  pock- 
ets up  here  and  the  deplorable  effect  that  being 

[44] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


ruined  has  upon  the  immortal  soul — at  any 
rate,  if  it  is  Russian." 

She  smiled,  and  again  Derrick  noticed  the 
irony  of  her  long  lips. 

They  talked  all  through  the  meal,  while  they 
sipped  their  coffee  afterwards,  while  they 
smoked  cigarettes  innumerable.  Princess  Ar- 
anensky  asked  Derrick  no  questions,  but  con- 
tinued to  speak  with  amazing  unreserve  about 
herself,  life,  men,  books.  When  he  talked  she 
listened  to  him  with  a  still  and  complete  in- 
terest. She  had  no  coquetry.  She  displayed 
no  feminine  wiles.  There  was  no  hint  of  sen- 
suality in  her  manner  or  atmosphere.  Yet 
there  was  something  warm  and  strong  in  her 
personality.  The  time  flew  till  the  woman  of 
the  house  came  in  with  the  two  bills,  which  she 
gave  to  Derrick.  He  was  about  to  settle  both 
when  the  Princess  stretched  out  her  hand. 

"That  is  mine — thank  you,"  she  said,  with 
quiet  decision.  And  she  took  it  and  paid,  and 
gave  the  woman  five  francs  for  herself.  Then 
she  looked  at  her  watch. 

"Are  you  coming  down  by  train?" 

"Yes,"  said  Derrick. 

"Then  let  us  go  together.  We  have  half  an 
[45] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

hour  to  walk  in  the  snow  before  the  train 
starts." 

It  was  colder  now.  The  winter  day  was  de- 
clining and  clouds  were  stealing  down  the 
mountain  sides.  The  breath  went  from  their 
lips  like  smoke. 

"Another  winter  in  Montreux!"  said  the 
Princess. 

Derrick  looked  at  her  long  sable  coat, 
thought  of  the  five-franc  tip  she  had  just  given 
to  the  waitress  at  the  hotel,  and  wondered  how 
poor  she  really  was. 

"If  I  were  free,"  she  continued,  "I  should  go 
to  Egypt  or  to  India." 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  Asia?"  he  asked. 

"Never.  But  I  often  feel  Asia  within  me. 
Why  didn't  I  go  there  when  I  was  rich  ?  What 
fools  rich  people  are !  I  was.  Petrograd,  Mos- 
cow, Paris,  Vienna,  the  South  of  France — that 
sufficed  me  when  I  had  money.  But  I  only  ex- 
isted then.  I  did  not  think.  Let  us  stand  here 
for  a  moment  in  the  snow.  Look  at  the  clouds 
swallowing  up  the  woods  and  me  and  you." 

The  mists  were  indeed  floating  about  them, 
and  the  world  was  fading  away,  leaving  them 
in  a  strange  isolation.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be 

[46] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


heard  when  their  feet  ceased  from  moving. 
The  Princess  compressed  her  lips  and  half  shut 
her  eyes.  Neither  she  nor  Derrick  moved  or 
spoke  for  two  or  three  minutes. 

"It  is  true  what  Stiner  says,"  she  remarked 
at  last,  breaking  the  silence.  "All  the  world 
which  we  see  is  but  a  mask.  The  truth,  the  real 
physiognomy,  is  hidden  behind  it,  behind  the 
mountains,  and  the  seas,  the  desert  sands,  the 
sunsets,  the  moonlight,  as  we  are  hidden  be- 
hind our  words,  our  actions,  our  laughter  and 
our  tears.  Even  Nature,  as  we  see  it,  is  cam- 
ouflage. We  take  for  a  grey  wave  of  the  sea 
what  is  really  a  ship,  with  perhaps  guns  trained 
upon  us.  Poor  little  people!  Come,  let  us  go 
down,  or  we  shall  miss  the  train,  and  then 
Katya  will  be  frightened  for  me." 

"The  lady  I  saw  last  night  playing  at  the 
Casino?"  Derrick  ventured  to  say. 

"Did  you?  Yes,  she  hoped  to  win  some- 
thing. We  need  money  so  badly.  But  she 
lost.  She  always  loses  because  she  needs  to 
win.  That  is  fatal  in  gambling — to  need  to 
win.  She  is  from  the  Baltic  Provinces  and 
has  only  been  here  a  short  time.  She  has  seen 
dreadful  things  in  Russia,  and  believes  no 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

longer  in  a  God  or  in  any  human  goodness. 
In  each  man  and  woman,  she  says,  a  hyena  is 
hidden,  or  a  wolf.  She  has  seen  the  wolf  come 
out  many  times,  poor  child!  She  is  hard  as 
ice,  but  she  has  some  affection  for  me.  Ah, 
here  is  the  train — well  warmed,  I  hope." 

That  evening  in  the  hotel  Derrick  was  in- 
troduced to  the  Princess's  friend,  Baroness 
Hausen. 

She  made  upon  him  a  peculiar  and  disagree- 
able impression,  which  would,  perhaps,  have 
been  even  more  disagreeable  had  not  the  Prin- 
cess that  afternoon  hinted  at  her  history,  ex- 
plained her  to  some  extent.  She  was  certainly 
good  looking,  especially  at  night,  when  arti- 
ficial light  gave  a  sort  of  glow  to  her  fairness. 
She  was  evidently  highly  educated  and  very 
intelligent,  and  of  course  she  was  polite  and, 
in  a  detached  way,  agreeable.  But  somehow — 
Derrick  could  hardly  have  said  how — a  glacial 
cynicism  made  itself  felt  in  her,  seemed  at 
times  to  emanate  from  her.  All  warm  senti- 
ment was  evidently  dead  in  her,  if  indeed  it  had 
ever  existed  there.  Princess  Aranensky  had 
spoken  of  her  friend's  affection,  and  probably 
she  had  some  feeling  for  the  Princess,  but,  if 

[48] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


so,  there  was  no  faith  in  it,  no  restful  trust  in 
it,  no  hope  mingled  with  it.  She  was  quiet  but 
not  gentle.  It  was  impossible  to  imagine  that 
she  had  ever  felt  happy,  yet  she  made  no  pa- 
rade of  misery.  As  to  any  demand  for  sym- 
pathy, Derrick  would  as  easily  have  expected 
it  from  an  ice-covered  rock  as  from  Baroness 
Hausen.  She  was  like  a  well-bred  cultivated 
human  being  whose  humanity  had  dried  up  at 
the  sources,  leaving  her  without  regret  for  it- 
Possibly  she  no  longer  even  remembered  that 
it  had  ever  been.  She  looked  at  people  as  one 
might  look  at  stones  in  a  quarry.  The  mere 
expression  in  her  large  blue  eyes  was  sufficient 
to  prevent  even  the  most  passing  allusion  to 
sentiment,  heart,  or  Christian  charity,  by  any- 
one the  least  sensitive  to  human  influences* 
Disbelief,  irony,  gleamed  in  them  like  the  light 
on  a  spear  point. 

She  spoke  without  reserve,  like  the  Princess, 
and  evidently  expressed  her  real  opinions  in 
casual  conversation,  disdaining  to  hide  them. 
If  she  did  not  agree  with  something  which  was 
said  she  stated  the  fact  bluntly.  When  the 
War  was  alluded  to  she  sneered  at  the  sug- 
gestion that  any  of  the  nations  which  had  been 

[49] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

engaged  in  it  had  been  moved  by  any  feeling 
except  crude  egoism  and  undiluted  selfishness. 

"We  still  live  in  the  jungle,"  she  said,  "and 
we  always  shall  live  there.  War  has  simply 
uncovered  our  nakedness  and  shown  us  as  we 
really  are.  I  wonder  why  governments  take 
the  trouble  to  lie  and  pretend  any  longer.  No 
one  is  deceived  any  more  by  their  childish  pre- 
tences. No  one  is  hoodwinked.  So  why  waste 
time  on  humbug?  There  is  one  thing,  at  any 
rate,  to  be  said  for  the  Bolsheviks.  They  have 
no  more  humbug  about  them  than  a  tiger  has." 

Princess  Aranensky  neither  attempted  to 
combat  her  friend's  opinions  nor  seemed  con- 
cerned as  to  what  Derrick  thought  of  them. 
But  she  did  not  say  she  agreed  with  them. 
She  only  remarked — 

"It  is  lucky  you  are  safe  here  in  Montreux 
among  the  cake-shops,  Katya!" 

"People  are  really  just  the  same  here  in 
Montreux  as  they  are  in  Petrograd  or  in  Riga," 
said  the  Baroness,  "only  they  dare  not  show 
it.  This  long  street" — she  stretched  out  her 
thin  white  arm — "if  we  could  uncover  it,  as 
you  may  uncover  a  drain,  we  should  find  every 
evil  passion  at  work.  We  should  find  it  full 

[50] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


of  actual  or  potential  thieves,  murderers,  adul- 
terers, torturers,  devils  of  all  kinds.  They  are 
held  in  check  here  by  opinion  and  the  law — 
that  is  all.  Abolish  the  law,  give  the  public 
opinion — which  is  merely  collective  hypocrisy 
— a  good  shake,  and  then  look  at  Montreux! 
Now  I  am  going  to  bed." 

And  she  got  up,  with  a  sort  of  frozen  tran- 
quillity, bade  Derrick  good  night  and  went 
away. 

"Moral  riff-raff!"  said  the  Princess.  "You 
see  what  she  thinks  of  us."  . 

"But — forgive  me — I  don't  think  Baroness 
Hausen  is  quite  normal,"  said  Derrick. 

And  they  fell  into  a  discussion  which  lasted 
till  midnight,  one  of  those  discussions  which 
Derrick  delighted  in,  about  human  character 
and  human  motives,  about  the  "why"  at  the 
root  of  strange  actions,  the  pressure  of  neces- 
sity, moral  and  physical,  upon  human  beings, 
the  subtle  tug  of  floating  ideas  at  receptive 
and  emotional  natures,  the  driving  force  of 
the  passions,  the  apparently  fatal  moulding- 
power  which  circumstance  has  over  the  plastic 
soul  of  woman  and  man. 

The  Princess  and  he  sometimes  agreed, 
[51] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

sometimes  disagreed;  but  that  didn't  seem  to 
matter,  for  she  evidently  had  a  sincere  intelli- 
gence which  was  absolutely  bold  in  expression. 
She  was  never  irritable,  never  showed  nervous- 
ness, but  smoked  and  talked  with  tireless  zest. 
She  was  certainly  no  longer  a  sentimentalist, 
whatever  she  had  been  in  the  days  of  her  youth, 
but  she  showed  none  of  the  perverted  cynicism 
of  the  Baroness  Hausen. 

In  the  course  of  the  conversation  Derrick 
discovered  that  the  Princess  had  long  been  a 
widow,  and  that  at  one  time  she  had  been  at- 
tached to  the  Russian  Court.  She  was  evi- 
dently familiar  with  many  of  the  well-known 
men  of  the  time  on  the  Continent,  but  told 
Derrick  she  had  never  visited  England. 

"I  have  never  had  any  children,"  she  men- 
tioned casually,  "and  I  have  never  wished  to. 
I  should  be  afraid  of  handing  on  miseries." 

He  received  from  her  the  net  impression  of 
a  vivid  and  bold  nature  which  in  long  contact 
with  the  world  had  learnt  to  expect  very  little 
really  from  life.  She  told  him  that  she  believed 
in  the  doctrine  of  reincarnation. 

"So  I  have  always  the  sensation  of  passing 
like  a  shadow  along  a  wall,"  she  said. 

[52] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"And  do  other  people  seem  to  you  shadows?" 
he  asked  her. 

"Many  do.  They  appear  to  me  as  grotesques 
and  I  can  scarcely  be  civil  to  them.  But  there 
are  others  who  seem  to  mean  a  great  deal.  Per- 
haps one  has  met  them  before  and  will  meet 
them  again,  farther  along  the  road." 

Her  large  black  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him 
with  a  sort  of  musing  abstraction. 

"Perhaps  one  has  to  help  them  or  to  be 
helped  by  them,"  she  added.  "I  am  not  so 
cynical  as  poor  Katya.  I  do  believe  in  disin- 
terested human  kindness.  It  is  rare,  but  it  ex- 
ists. People  have  told  me  that  there  is  much 
of  it  among  the  English." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Derrick. 

"Ah,  you  value  and  believe  in  it!  How 
Katya  would  laugh  at  you !" 

And  then  they  separated.  The  Princess 
went  up  to  bed  and  Derrick  lit  yet  another 
cigar.  His  brain  felt  waked  up,  excited,  young 
even.  And  he  had  no  inclination  to  sleep. 


[58] 


TEN  days  passed  by,  and  Derrick  was  still  in 
Montreux  and  had  no  intention  of  leaving  it. 
He  felt  much  better  in  health.  His  nervous 
depression,  his  bitter  sense  of  the  uselessness 
of  life,  had  vanished.  The  slight  heart  trouble 
to  which  the  doctor  in  London  had  alluded, 
and  which  had  manifested  itself  to  Derrick  by 
unpleasant  thumpings  at  night,  and  by  a  curi- 
ous illusion  of  his  heart  being  loose  and  inde- 
pendent upon  his  pillow  instead  of  in  his  breast 
was  abated.  He  generally  slept  well.  And 
the  gliding,  the  soft  and  empty  life  of  this  little 
town  of  idlers,  stretched  out  in  its  narrow  space 
between  the  mountains  and  the  waters,  soothed 
him  deliciously  after  his  labours  of  a  policeman, 
a  clerk,  a  hospital  attendant  and  a  lorry-driver. 
Each  morning  he  woke  up  with  the  delightful 
feeling  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  in  the 
day,  that  the  hours  were  entirely  his  own,  that 
no  duties  demanded  either  to  be  accomplished 
or  to  be  avoided  contemptibly.  He  had  only 

[54] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


to  be  idle  among  other  idlers;  for  nobody  did 
anything  in  Montreux.  Even  the  absolutely 
penniless  did  absolutely  nothing,  except  stroll 
about,  look  into  the  shop-windows,  visit  the  tea- 
shops,  listen  to  the  music  at  the  Casino  or  in 
the  Pavilion  near  the  Montreux  Palace,  pay 
visits  to  acquaintances  in  the  hotels,  and  gamble 
mildly  now  and  then  at  night.  There  were  a 
few  English,  it  is  true,  who  were  supposed  to 
play  golf  near  Aigle,  to  get  up  billiard  matches 
at  the  English  club,  and  to  go  in  for  premature 
winter  sports  on  the  mountains,  but  they  were 
swamped  by  the  Russians,  Poles,  Turks,  Ger- 
mans, Italians,  Egyptians,  Greeks,  Rumanians 
and  others,  who  never  dreamed  of  attempting 
such  strenuous  diversions.  One  saw  nothing 
of  them.  They  were  merely  a  legend  in  which 
few  people  believed.  Derrick  did  not  meet 
them.  He  had  come  out  to  Montreux  for  a 
thorough  change,  and  it  is  not  a  change  for  an 
Englishman  to  meet  other  Englishmen.  In- 
stead he  was  peeping  in,  as  if  through  a  crack 
in  a  door  almost,  at  a  tiny  section  of  the  hu- 
man race,  a  minute  assemblage  of  the/ nations, 
waiting  after  the  great  war  which  had  shaken 
the  world  to  its  foundations,  waiting  in  hotels, 

[55] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

manicure  shops,  libraries,  tea  pavilions — for 
what?  What  did  these  strangely  various  peo- 
ple of  different  nationalities  expect  as  they 
lived  in  this  curious  and  almost  numb  pause 
between  war  and  genuine  peace?  What  did 
they  hope  would  come  about  of  good  for  them, 
who  had  abandoned  their  homes,  lost  the 
greater  part  of  their  fortunes,  been  driven  from 
their  careers,  had  their  estates  confiscated,  or 
been  forced  to  abandon  countries  not  their  own 
with  which  they  had  been  identified  for  years 
and  in  which  all  their  interests  lay,  enemy 
countries  to  them  now  by  the  fortune  of  war? 
And  the  utterly  ruined  financially — what  was 
going  to  happen  to  them  in  the  future  when 
the  world  got  going  again? 

Derrick  often  wondered  as  he  looked  at  the 
crowd  of  faces  around  him  at  the  hours  of  tea, 
or  music,  or  gambling,  or  more  narrowly  at 
individual  faces  seen  in  the  street,  by  the  lake 
shore,  casually  in  a  shop,  or  in  the  passage  of 
a  hotel.  And  he  divined  silent  and  slow  trag- 
edies in  the  pretty  town  with  its  neat,  gay,  even 
luxurious  aspect;  he  seemed  to  hear  tragedy 
sometimes  in  the  tone  of  a  voice  speaking  some 
strange  language,  and  coming  to  him,  perhaps, 

[56] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


out  of  the  twilight  as  he  went  by  beneath  an 
arcade;  or  the  sound  of  a  heavy  step  on  the 
pavement  suggested  it  to  him,  as  a  very  well- 
dressed  man  passed  him,  with  the  careworn, 
wary  look  of  diplomacy  fixed  irrevocably  on  a 
lined  face;  or  it  was  half  revealed  to  him  by 
the  pale  silhouette  of  a  woman,  glimpsed 
through  a  drifting  of  snow. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  happier  in  Montreux 
than  he  had  been  for  a  very  long  time.  The 
War  had  taught  him  that  it  is  useless  to  let 
oneself  perpetually  loose  from  one's  moorings 
in  pity  for  others.  In  sheer  self-defence,  like 
many  men  and  women,  he  had  cultivated  if 
not  a  certain  surface  hardness  at  least  a  de- 
liberate egoism.  This  was  his  well-earned  holi- 
day. His  health  of  body  and  mind  needed  it. 
So  he  let  himself  go  to  his  egoism,  or  tried  to 
as  much  as  he  could.  And  he  realized  Mon- 
treux without  bleeding  at  the  heart  for  its 
woes.  His  brain  was  interested  by  it,  even 
fascinated.  And  he  was  not  going  to  allow 
his  heart  to  be  touched  to  any  real  suffering. 

Besides,  in  spite  of  all,  the  aspect  of  the  place 
was  cosy  and  cheerful,  and  then  he  had  com- 
panionship. There  was  no  loneliness  for  him 

[57] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

in  Montreux,  and  he  had  forgotten  all  about 
being  middle-aged,  and  congratulated  himself 
every  day  on  not  being  married. 

For  if  he  had  been  married  he  could  not  have 
had  his  friendship  with  Princess  Aranensky. 
It  was  a  purely  intellectual  friendship,  of 
course,  but  a  wife  would  never  have  understood 
that,  he  told  himself.  For  married  women 
never  believe  in  the  intellect  as  a  link  between 
the  sexes. 

Every  day  he  was  with  the  Princess;  some- 
times upstairs  in  her  sitting-room — although 
ruined  she  had  a  very  nice  sitting-room  look- 
ing out  on  to  the  lake,  and,  as  she  had  hinted, 
furnished  with  cushions,  of  ample  size  and  de- 
licious colours — sometimes  by  the  shore  of  the 
lake,  in  the  gardens,  under  the  arcades,  some- 
times at  the  Casino,  listening  to  music  or  to 
French  plays,  or  watching  the  gamblers,  among 
them  Baroness  Hausen,  risking  their  small 
sums  of  money  at  boule,  sometimes  among  the 
snows  high  up  on  the  mountains.  And  when- 
ever he  was  with  her  he  felt  exceptionally  alive. 
Her  mind  and  her  temperament  stimulated 
his.  She  seemed  to  set  all  the  life  that  was  in 
him  in  active  motion;  to  stir  up  the  dormant 

[58] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


energies  of  his  mind,  almost  to  create  in  him 
energies.  Through  her  he  realized  his  own  in- 
telligence as  he  had  never  realized  it  before, 
and  that  fact  led  him  to  consider  her  the  clever- 
est woman  he  had  ever  met.  For  men  always 
think  women  clever  who  make  them  feel  clever. 

In  some  ways  she  seemed  to  him  quite  un- 
like other  women.  For  instance,  she  would 
never  allow  him  to  spend  a  penny  on  her.  If 
they  went  to  a  tea-shop  together  she  insisted 
on  paying  for  her  own  cup  of  tea.  If  they 
took  the  train  to  Glion  she  paid  for  her  own 
ticket.  If  they  drove  in  a  cab  she  paid  her 
share  of  the  fare  to  the  cabman  and  half  the 
tip.  Derrick's  remonstrances  were  in  vain. 

"I  pay  my  share,  or  we  don't  do  these  little 
things  together,"  she  said. 

Once  or  twice  Derrick  ventured  to  hint  that 
he  was  very  well-to-do,  that  the  War  had  not 
done  much  harm  to  his  bank  balance.  It  made 
no  difference. 

"The  pauper  who  pays  her  way  has  one  as- 
set left,"  she  remarked. 

"What  asset?" 

"Her  self-respect." 

"You're  right!"  he  answered,  thinking  with 
[59] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

a  certain  irony  of  various  women  he  knew  in 
London. 

He  had  noticed  that  she  was  very  fond  of 
flowers.  There  were  always  flowers  in  her 
room.  So  one  day  he  bought  her  a  basket  of 
roses.  She  accepted  it  and  thanked  him  with 
cordiality.  But  she  added : 

"Don't  give  me  any  more,  please." 

"Why  not?" 

"Still  the  same  reason — the  pauper's  one  as- 
set." 

"But  every  man " 

"I  know  you  will  yield  to  my  perhaps  fool- 
ish wish." 

Sometimes  the  Baroness  was  with  them  when 
they  went  out,  but  she  never  accompanied 
them  on  any  excursion. 

"Katya  doesn't  care  for  the  snows,"  the 
Princess  said.  "She  has  had  enough  of  them 
in  Russia.  If  she  had  any  money  she  would 
go  away  from  here." 

"Where  would  she  go?" 

"To  Monte  Carlo  probably." 

"Not  to  India  too?"  said  Derrick,  remember- 
ing the  Princess's  remark  about  Asia. 

[60] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"Katya  hasn't  my  reasons  for  wishing  to  go 
to  India." 

Derrick  wondered  what  the  Princess's  rea- 
sons were,  but  he  did  not  ask  her.  She  was 
so  frank  and  unreserved  that  he  always  felt 
that  she  would  tell  him  what  she  wanted  to  tell, 
and  that  if  she  were  silent  about  something 
her  silence  was  intentional.  But  eventually  he 
came  to  believe  that  her  desire  to  go  to  Asia 
was  connected  somehow  with  her  views  on  re- 
ligion. He  found  that  she  had  studied  ll:e 
doctrines  of  the  Buddha  and  had  a  wide  knowl- 
edge of  books  on  theosophy.  Once  she  said 
to  him: 

"Europe  is  only  the  playground,  or  the 
battle-ground  of  ignorant,  naughty  children. 
The  home  of  all  wisdom  is  Asia.  Why  didn't 
I  go  there  when  I  was  rich,  instead  of  to  Monte 
Carlo,  where  one  can  smell  the  varnish?" 

The  Princess's  physique  seemed  to  Derrick 
as  strong  as  her  mind.  Although  he  judged 
that  she  must  be  well  over  forty,  she  was  an 
untiring  walker,  and  delighted  in  walking  up- 
hill. 

"When  I  go  upwards,"  she  said,  "I  always 
feel  as  if  I  were  leaving  all  the  mesquineries 

[61] 


below  me,  down  in  the  depths  with  the  little 
people." 

As  they  walked  in  the  snows  they  discussed 
everything — or  so  it  seemed  to  Derrick.  And 
sometimes  in  the  heart  of  the  snow-covered 
woods  they  stood  together  silently  for  a  long 
time.  The  Princess  leaned  on  her  pointed 
stick,  lit  a  cigarette  at  Derrick's  match,  and 
they  looked  at,  listened  to,  the  mysterious 
winter.  Now  and  then  a  mass  of  snow  slipped 
from  an  overburdened  tree.  And  that  seemed 
the  winter  speaking  to  them.  The  sun  shone, 
or  the  clouds  came  down,  wrapping  them  in  a 
greater  intimacy;  they  saw  the  moon  with  its 
crystal  beauty,  the  twilight  with  its  curious  ef- 
fects of  subtle  primrose  or  dusky  ash  colour; 
sometimes  the  far  gleam  of  a  smouldering  sun- 
set, heavy,  it  seemed,  with  a  burning  weari- 
ness ;  and  then  they  walked  on,  and  returned  to 
Montr eux  laden  with  memories. 

The  Princess  had  once  said  that  Nature  was 
camouflage.  It  might  be  so.  But  Derrick  had 
never  felt  Nature  so  deeply  as  since  he  had  been 
at  Montreux. 

With  Baroness  Hausen  Derrick  managed  to 
get  on  fairly  well,  but  he  was  always  repelled 

[62] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


by  her  outlook  on  life,  and  sometimes  wondered 
how  Princess  Aranensky  could  be  at  ease  with 
her,  could  be  so  little  critical  of  her.  What  she 
had  seen,  and  perhaps  had  endured  in  Russia — 
Derrick  never  knew  what  experiences  she  had 
gone  through — had  certainly  affected  her  vital- 
ly, and  in  a  terrible  way.  She  was  frozen  in 
cynicism.  There  was  at  times  something  cold- 
ly ferocious  in  her  manifestation  of  her  condi- 
tion which  made  Derrick  almost  physically 
distressed,  as  at  the  sight  of  an  abruptly  un- 
covered cancerous  wound.  He  wondered 
sometimes  why  he  could  not  pity  her.  Per- 
haps it  was  because  pity  demands  outstretched 
hands,  and  Baroness  Hausen's  hands  were 
never  outstretched,  except  at  the  tables  to 
gather  in  winnings. 

She  was  a  persistent  gambler  but  a  very  un- 
lucky one.  Unlike  the  fat  Armenian,  who  was 
of  course  very  rich,  she  seldom  brought  off  a 
coup. 

"It  is  a  mercy  the  maximum  is  only  five 
francs,"  Princess  Aranensky  said  one  day  to 
Derrick.  "If  it  were  more  we  should  very 
soon  have  to  leave  this  hotel." 

"Why  do  you  let  her  play?"  he  asked. 
[63] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"Let  Katya  do  anything!  My  dear  friend, 
no  one  on  this  earth  could  prevent  her  from 
doing  anything  she  had  a  fancy  to  do,  if  it  were 
possible  for  her  to  do  it.  Those  who  believe 
in  nothing  are  always  ungovernable.  It  is  be- 
lief which  breeds  fear,  and  it  is  fear  which 
breeds  in  men  the  instinct  to  obey." 

"Are  you  fond  of  the  Baroness?"  he  asked, 
abruptly. 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  Katya,"  said  the  Prin- 
cess. "And  so  would  you  be  if  you  knew  all 
that  has  happened  to  her." 

But  she  never  told  him  what  had  happened. 

One  evening  the  Princess  proposed  to  Der- 
rick to  go  up  on  the  following  day  by  the  moun- 
tain railway  from  Aigle  to  Leysin,  and  lunch 
at  the  Grand  Hotel  "among  the  consump- 
tives." 

"It  is  an  unsmart  Davos,"  she  said.  "The 
snows  and  the  ill  people  who  hope  to  be  cured 
by  the  snows  are  there,  but  there  are  no  bands, 
no  cocottes,  no  gay  young  men,  no  trippers. 
What  do  you  say?  Will  it  make  you  melan- 
choly to  spend  one  day  among  Doctor  Rollier's 
patients  ?" 

"Not  with  you!"  he  answered. 
[64] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"Will  you  come,  too,  Katya?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Baroness  Hausen.  "I 
have  no  wish  to  assist  at  the  punishments  of  the 
Immanent  Will!  Besides,  I  am  going  to  Ge- 
neva to-morrow.'* 

She  looked  significantly  at  the  Princess. 

"Baron  Krane  has  lent  me  his  car  for  the 
day." 

The  Princess  said  no  more.  But  Derrick 
noticed  that,  as  if  prompted  by  her  friend's 
look,  she  lifted  her  right  hand  and  gently 
touched  the  long  strings  of  pearls  she  was 
wearing. 

Derrick  had  often  glanced  at  those  pearls 
and  wondered  how  much  they  were  worth,  not 
because  he  judged  the  beauty  of  jewels  by  their 
exact  money  value,  but  because  he  remembered 
the  Princess's  poverty. 

He  believed  that  she  considered  herself  a 
poor  woman,  because  there  was  something  in 
her  whole  way  of  being  which  carried  to  him 
the  conviction  of  her  sincerity.  Intellectually 
she  was  sincere.  He  felt  positive  of  that.  She 
said  what  she  thought  in  their  discussions,  re- 
gardless of  his  opinions.  Why  should  she  be 
less  sincere  about  the  facts  of  her  life  which 

[65] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

she  chose  to  speak  about  ?  On  the  other  hand, 
it  was  certainly  strange  to  find  a  woman  who 
asserted  that  she  was  a  pauper,  ruined,  living 
in  a  first-rate  hotel,  with  a  sitting-room,  a  maid, 
dresses  and  hats  which  evidently  came  from 
Paris,  wonderful  furs,  and  jewels  which  looked, 
to  his  inexpert  eyes,  immensely  valuable. 
Sometimes  he  could  not  help  remembering  his 
conversation  with  the  director  of  the  Monney ; 
and  the  latter's  remark:  "There  are  princesses 
here  without  a  halfpenny."  He  had  asked, 
"But  how  on  earth  can  they  live  in  hotels?" 
And  the  director  had  referred  to  them  as  "liv- 
ing mysteries,  who  live  without  having  the 
means  to  live,"  and  had  gone  on  to  hint  at  all 
sorts  of  doubtful  expedients  for  money  getting. 
Derrick  could  not  possibly  associate  in  his  mind 
Princess  Aranensky  with  anything  doubtful. 
But  perhaps  she  sold  "things."  She  might 
have  possessed  other  jewels,  other  magnificent 
furs  than  those  which  he  had  seen  her  wearing. 
She  might  have  got  rid  of  them  at  a  price. 
But — in  the  future? 

It  was  curious,  and  somehow  it  was  rather 
melancholy,  to  know  so  much  about  her  mind 
and  so  little  about  her  life.  They  were,  in  a 

[66] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


sense,  really  intimate,  and  yet  in  a  sort  of  way 
— that  was  how  he  put  it  to  himself — she  was  a 
stranger  to  him. 

He  realized  that  his  liking  for  her  had  be- 
come very  strong,  stronger  than  he  had  been 
conscious  of  till  now.  The  measure  of  his 
wish  to  be  truly  intimate  with  her  was  the 
measure  of  it.  Under  her  immense  frankness 
lay — that  was  evident — an  immense  reserve. 
Well,  of  course  he  would  never  try  to  break 
through  it.  Perhaps  if  they  had  belonged  to 
the  same  nation  she  would  have  taken  him  more 
readily  into  her  confidence,  have  relied  upon 
him  as  she  had  certainly  not  relied. 

He  was  conscious  of  an  obscure  irritation. 

On  the  following  day  they  started  off  early 
to  go  to  Leysin. 

They  had  to  wait  for  some  time  at  the  station, 
and  while  they  were  there  the  Orient  Express 
came  in  from  Paris,  many  hours  late.  The 
great  cars  labelled  "Bucharest,"  "Belgrade," 
"Trieste,"  were  thronged  with  weary-looking 
travellers,  who  stared  out  at  this — to  them — 
small  wayside  station  with  lack-lustre,  or 
rather  insolent,  eyes.  Some  sat  on  tip-top 
seats  in  the  corridor ;  others  leaned  against  the 

[67] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

cushioned  walls  of  the  small  compartments.  A 
bald-headed  man  offered  himself  up  to  the  gaze 
of  Montreux  lying  on  his  back  in  bed,  smok- 
ing a  huge  cigar,  and  reading  a  French  novel. 
An  old  gentleman  wearing  a  fez  peered  out 
through  gold-rimmed  spectacles.  Near  him 
some  black-haired,  yellow-skinned  children 
pointed  at  a  Swiss  soldier,  nodding  their  heads 
and  laughed  as  they  sucked  mandarin  oranges. 
After  a  brief  stop  the  foremost  of  the  two  huge 
engines  which  drew  the  train  gave  a  prolonged 
shriek. 

"They  are  going!"  said  the  Princess  to  Der- 
rick. 

But  the  train  did  not  move  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  and  then  glided  away  almost  myster- 
iously towards  the  Near  East,  without  any 
warning  note. 

"That  train  gives  me  nostalgia!"  said  the 
Princess,  looking  after  it.  "But  come,  my 
friend,  here  is  our  train  to  Aigle." 

Her  emphasis  on  the  last  word  was  almost 
bitter,  and  perhaps  she  saw  on  Derrick's  face 
a  look  of  hurt  disappointment,  for  she  added 
when  they  were  sitting  together  in  the  well- 
warmed  carriage: 

[68] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"You  must  forgive  me.  If  you  had  been  in 
Montreux  for  more,  much  more,  than  five  years 
you  would  feel  as  I  do  when  you  saw  the  Orient 
Express.  But  now  to-day  we  are  going  to 
enjoy  ourselves." 

And  from  that  moment  she  laid  herself  out  to 
be  charming  to  Derrick. 

At  Aigle  they  changed  and  got  into  the 
mountain  train  whose  destination  was  Leysin. 
A  few  peasants  were  with  them,  sturdy  crea- 
tures with  ruddy  cheeks,  large  heads  and  firm, 
unimaginative  eyes;  and  there  were  some 
others,  not  peasants,  people  from  distant  places 
with  the  seal  of  consumption  set  upon  them, 
lonely  people  being  carried  up  into  the  still 
coldness,  the  white  serenity  of  the  heights,  to 
struggle  against  death. 

Two  of  these  were  in  the  carriage  with  the 
Princess  and  Derrick,  and  sat  opposite  to 
them.  One  was  an  Englishman  of  about  thirty, 
whose  sunken  grey  eyes  had  a  sort  of  still,  con- 
trolled despair  in  them;  the  other  was  a  swar- 
thy middle-aged  woman,  probably  an  Ital- 
ian, horribly  thin,  horribly  feverish,  and  of 
a  greenish  pallor.  -  These  two  did  not  know 
each  other,  but  from  time  to  time  glanced  at 

[69] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

each  other  furtively,  as  the  train  crept  steadily 
up  through  the  white  forests  and  the  snow- 
fields.  On  a  distant  slope  Derrick  saw  two 
dark  figures  skiing.  They  glided  over  the 
whiteness  with  amazing  rapidity  and  dis- 
appeared. He  imagined  them  shouting  as  they 
went,  but  no  sounds  reached  his  ears.  The 
silence  of  this  world  seemed  a  visible  thing. 
The  carriage  was  very  warm.  One  of  the  con- 
sumptives, the  Englishman,  opened  a  window 
for  an  instant,  and  immediately  the  personality 
of  winter  was  added  to  theirs,  pure,  penetrat- 
ing, aloof  and  yet  full  of  a  thin  magic  that 
seemed  intentional.  The  Italian  woman  cast 
an  agitated  glance  at  the  window,  and  the  Eng- 
lishman immediately  shut  it,  and  looked  down, 
folding  his  thin  hands  together.  And  even  his 
hands  conveyed  to  Derrick  an  impression  of 
doom. 

The  Princess  was  silent  now.  Her  tall,  up- 
right figure  was  wrapped  in  a  coat  of  soff 
mouse-coloured  fur,  with  a  wide  collar  and 
cuffs,  and  she  wore  a  round  hat  of  the  same  fur 
and  gloves  of  deerskin.  As  usual,  she  carried 
her  pointed  stick.  On  her  feet  were  strong 
boots  with  nails  in  the  soles.  The  cold  air  had 

[70] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


brought  colour  into  her  smooth  cheeks.  Her 
large  black  eyes,  half  shut,  were  turned  to  the 
snows  with  an  expression  of  steady,  but  rather 
indifferent,  scrutiny.  She  knew  the  snows  so 
well  that  perhaps  they  had  little  more  to  tell 
her. 

Higher  and  higher  they  went.  At  last  houses 
appeared,  all  of  them  with  strange  looking 
fa£ades  divided  into  open  compartments.  On 
a  snow-covered  pathway  several  people  stood 
to  stare  at  the  crawling  train.  One  was  a  girl, 
with  orange-coloured  hair,  sticky  scarlet  lips, 
eyes  that  from  a  distance  looked  like  smudges 
of  ink  on  a  structure  of  sharpened  bone.  She 
leaned  on  a  stick  and  gazed,  bending  forward — 
a  painted  consumptive. 

Where  the  railway  ended  they  got  out. 

"We  will  lunch  at  the  Grand  Hotel,"  said 
the  Princess,  "but  let  us  take  a  little  walk 
first." 

And  they  emerged  into  the  wonderful  but 
sad  world  which  nature  and  a  great  doctor  be- 
tween them  have  created  far  up  above  Aigle. 

To  Derrick  even  the  buildings,  the  hotels, 
pensions,  huge  sanatoria,  looked  gaunt  and 
stricken,  presenting  what  he  thought  of  as  their 

[71] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

hollow  eye  sockets  from  which  the  eyes  had 
been  plucked  out  to  the  white  glare  of  the 
snow.  The  sense  of  stillness  was  profound  and 
almost  awful.  Far  off  the  Diablerets  showed 
their  rugged  crests  against  a  strip  of  cold 
lemon-coloured  sky,  above  which  were  massed 
bellying  clouds  of  purplish  grey.  A  shuffle  of 
invalids'  feet  was  faintly  audible  on  the  snow, 
and  somewhere  below  them  the  thin  voice  of  a 
bell  sounded  with  peevish  persistence. 

"It  is  time  for  their  dejeuner"  said  the 
Princess,  "one  of  the  great  events  of  the  day 
up  here." 

Suddenly  she  lifted  her  arms. 

"MonDieu!  Mon  Dieu !"  she  said.  "There 
is  someone — there  must  be  someone  whose  busi- 
ness it  is  to  punish  humanity.  Katya  will  not 
have  it  so.  She  says  there  is  nothing  but  blind 
energy.  But  I  say  there  must  be  a  Personage 
with  a  rod." 

"And  the  reincarnation  theory?"  said  Der- 
rick. 

"The  rod,  perhaps,  drives  us  out  of  one  ex- 
istence into  another,  like  rabbits  driven  from 
hole  to  hole  by  a  man  with  a  ferret.  But  who 
knows — here  in  Europe?" 

[72] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


She  paused.  Then  she  added,  with  a  sort  of 
almost  sullen  resolution: 

"One  must  go  to  Asia  to  find  out,  or  to  get 
near  to,  the  truth.  It  is  not  hidden  in  Mon- 
treux — no,  nor  in  Leysin." 

A  little  later,  when  they  were  at  lunch  in 
the  hotel,  amid  a  crowd  of  consumptives  of 
many  nations,  she  said : 

"Ah,  my  friend,  you  do  not  know  what  a 
curse  being  poor  is  to  one  whose  only  possi- 
ble joy  in  life  lies  in  freedom  of  action.  I 
was  rich  until  this  War  came,  and  stayed  at 
Montreux  then  for  my  pleasure,  knowing  al- 
ways I  could  go  away  whenever  the  whim  took 
me.  I  had  immense  estates  in  Russia,  and  went 
there  from  time  to  time.  Now  I  have  nothing, 
and  I  am  a  prisoner — at  forty-five !  How  long 
I  shall  live  I  don't  know — many  years  prob- 
ably." 

She  stopped.  Then,  after  a  pause,  laying 
one  hand  on  his  wrist,  she  leaned  forward  and 
added : 

"Believe  me,  this  War  has  done  nothing 
but  harm,  not  only  material  harm,  but — what 
shall  I  say? — spiritual  harm.  No  good  will 
come  out  of  it.  There  is  not  one  person  I  knew 

[73] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

before  the  War  who  is  not  the  worse  for  it." 

"You  mean  morally  worse?" 

"I  do.  The  whole  of  Europe  has  received  a 
jolt  in  the  wrong  direction.  Don't  you  feel 
it?" 

They  fell  into  another  of  their  long  discus- 
sions. One  by  one  the  consumptives  got  up 
from  their  tables  and  went  listlessly  away  to 
their  rooms  to  lie  down.  Derrick  did  not  notice 
their  disappearance.  Princess  Aranensky  had 
a  curious  power  of  taking  complete  possession 
of  his  mind  when  she  chose  to.  In  conversation 
she  concentrated.  She  did  not,  as  many  women 
do,  look  about  the  room  while  she  talked,  let 
her  mjnd  go  to  any  small  happening,  attend  to 
the  words  or  movements  of  other  people  than 
those — or  than  the  one — she  was  with.  And 
she  listened  with  concentration  and  without 
restlessness. 

At  last  a  waiter,  who  probably  longed  to 
get  away  and  have  a  rest,  presented  the  bill. 

They  paid  it — as  always  with  bills — between 
them,  and  got  up. 

"How  long  have  we  been?"  said  the  Princess. 

She  looked  at  her  watch. 
[74] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


'My  friend,  I  talk  too  much.    I  forget  my- 
self in  talk!" 

"And  you  make  me  forget  everything  too," 
said  Derrick. 

"We  shall  have  time  for  a  little  walk  before 
the  train  goes." 

They  went  out  into  the  snow-covered 
grounds  of  the  hotel.  But  they  could  not  talk 
there.  A  notice  ordained  silence  at  that  hour. 

"The  poor  people  are  all  lying  down  in  their 
verandas,"  said  the  Princess.  "Let  us  go  on 
the  mountain  side.  They  cannot  hear  us 
there." 

They  passed  through  the  gate  and  went 
down  the  deserted  track  between  the  snow- 
fields. 

It  was  now  intensely  cold.  The  sun  had 
gone,  and  the  almost  fierce  purity  of  the  air 
seemed  to  have  grown  stronger,  more  vital,  to 
be  asserting  itself  almost  aggressively. 

"If  I  were  one  of  those  ill  ones  I  think  I 
should  get  to  hate  this  air,"  said  the  Princess. 

"Why?" 

"It  seems  to  be  crying  out  how  pure  it  is! 
It  seems  to  be  marking  the  contrast  between 
nature  and  man  in  an  almost  vulgar  way." 

[75] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

Again  they  fell  into  talk,  resuming  their  dis- 
cussion of  the  saLle-a-manger.  Derrick,  per- 
haps partly  for  argument's  sake,  refused  to 
agree  with  the  Princess's  contention  that  only 
moral  harm  had  come  out  of  the  War,  that 
people  were  the  worse  instead  of  the  better  for 
it.  He  pointed  to  the  nobilities,  the  self-sacri- 
fice, the  wonderful  resignation  in  sorrow,  the 
marvellous  examples  of  courage,  endurance 
and  even  of  tenderness  which  would  never  have 
been  manifested  but  for  the  War. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  allowed,  almost  impatiently. 
"But  I  say  the  balance  is  weighed  down  on  the 
wrong  side.  The  net  result  of  it  is  that  we  are 
not  better  but  worse  because  of  this  war,  moral- 
ly worse.  There  is  more  immorality,  more  rob- 
bery, more  brutality,  more  hardness,  more 
selfishness  everywhere  than  there  was  before — 
in  all  classes.  People  who  do  the  most  impos- 
sible things  excuse  themselves  by  saying,  'We 
couldn't  help  it' — or  'We  can't  help  it.  We  are 
not  quite  ourselves.  We  are  suffering  from 
the  effects  of  the  War.'  Shell-shock  is  the  uni- 
versal excuse.  I  should  use  it  myself,  I  know, 
if  necessary." 

[76] 


Just  then  she  cast  a  curious  little  glance  at 
Derrick  out  of  her  long  eyes. 

"And — perhaps  there  is  really  something  in 
it,"  she  added,  slowly.  "Is  Europe  normal  at 
this  moment?  Is  Montreux  normal?"  She 
paused.  "Am  I  normal?" 

Derrick  said: 

"I  never  knew  you  before  the  War,  but  you 
seem  to  me  to  be  perfectly  normal." 

"Ah,  perhaps  in  my  subtler  way  I  am  as  ab- 
normal as  you  think  poor  Katya  is." 

"Oh,  no,  you  aren't." 

"See,  the  twilight  is  coming  already!  Let 
us  turn." 

They  began  to  retrace  their  steps,  and  went 
towards  the  station.  For  it  was  now  nearly 
time  for  the  departure  of  the  train. 

"I  feel  since  the  War  that  nothing  matters 
very  much,"  said  the  Princess.  "And  that  is 
a  dangerous  feeling.  It  has  got  hold  of  near- 
ly everyone  and  it  leads  to  the  loosening  of  the 
cement  which  once  held  things  together.  Do 
you  know — don't  think  me  a  snob — I  believe 
one  of  the  most  tenacious  of  all  human  things  is 
the  feeling  of  aristocracy  in  one  who  is  born 
what  is  called  an  aristocrat,  the  feeling  which 

[77] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

forbids  certain  things,  thought  little  of  by 
many,  to  the  aristocrat.  I  call  it  the  "That-I- 
can't-do'  instinct.  You  know,  of  course,  what 
I  mean.'* 

"Yes." 

"Well — the  War  has  touched  even  that  feel- 
ing. Noblesse  oblige — even  that  has  lost  half, 
or  more  than  half,  its  meaning  since  the  War. 
Montreux,  little  Montreux,  my  prison  cell,  has 
taught  me  that." 

A  sombre,  almost  a  heavy,  look  had  come 
into  her  face,  giving  to  her  rather  rough-hewn 
features  something  of  brutality. 

"There  are  more  farewells  than  those  we  say 
to  the  dying,"  she  said.  "There  are  more  ter- 
rible farewells — to  ancient  virtues  we  thought 
ingrained.  There  is  nothing — nothing  which 
cannot  be  uprooted.  There  is  nothing  which  a 
human  being  might  not  do  if  a  sufficient  reason 
arose." 

"But  you  are  almost  as  cynical  to-day — in 
what  you  say — as  Baroness  Hausen.  Surely 
you  would  never  let  her  influence  you?" 

For  a  moment  the  Princess  reddened,  and  an 
angry  look  came  into  her  eyes. 

"Katya — influence  me!"  she  said,  proudly. 
[78] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


But  in  an  instant  her  anger  died  in  a  sort  of 
dark  melancholy. 

"No,  it  is  not  the  Katyas  who  really  influence 
us,  my  friend,"  she  said.  "It  is  the  terrible 
Zeitgeist;  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  Time." 


[79] 


CHAPTER  V 

THAT  night,  as  often  happened,  Derrick  dined 
at  the  same  table  as  the  Princess  and  Baroness 
Hausen.  He  noticed  that  neither  woman 
seemed  quite  as  usual.  The  Princess  was  cer- 
tainly abstracted.  Her  normal  concentration, 
to  him  one  of  her  greatest  attractions,  had  van- 
ished. She  showed  a  curious  absence  of  mind 
in  conversation,  and  even  talked  at  random 
sometimes,  as  if  she  scarcely  knew  what  was 
the  subject  in  hand.  Her  eyes  were  perpetual- 
ly roving  about  the  room  vaguely  and  Derrick 
suffered  under  the  unpleasant  conviction  that 
for  once  he  was  boring  her.  In  despair  he  de- 
voted himself  to  the  Baroness,  who  had  re- 
turned late  from  Geneva. 

She  at  least  was  not  absent-minded.  Her 
cruel  intelligence  was  "all  there,"  but  her  frosty 
malignancy  of  outlook  struck  Derrick  more  un- 
pleasantly than  ever  before.  It  even  roused  in 
him  a  strong  feeling  of  opposition,  and  tempted 
him  to  get  into  an  argument  with  her  and  to 

[80] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


show  his  teeth.  Hitherto  he  had  never  strong- 
ly resented  her  peculiar  and  strangely  un- 
sympathetic outlook  on  life  and  humanity, 
though  it  had  always  been  disagreeable  to  him, 
but  to-night  something  exceptionally  assured, 
even  arrogant,  in  her  cynicism  stung  him,  went 
home  to  him  personally.  She  irritated  him,  got 
on  his  nerves,  and  he  found  himself  asking, 
"Why  should  I  allow  this  young  woman  to 
pontificate  about  human  nature  as  if  she  alone 
had  all  the  secrets  of  worldly  knowledge?"  For 
some  time,  however,  he  resisted  his  inclination 
to  stand  up  to  her,  and  let  her  say  what  she 
would  without  protest,  though  without  any 
humbug  of  personal  agreement  with  her  views. 
She  was  in  an  exceptionally  bad  mood  to-night. 
That  was  obvious.  If  the  Princess  was  bored, 
the  Baroness  was  in  that  concentrated  condi- 
tion which  is  bred  of  a  morose  temper,  held  in 
control  but  secretly  longing  for  a  victim.  That 
she  was  looking  unusually  handsome  specially 
annoyed  Derrick,  he  scarcely  knew  why.  As 
he  glanced  at  her  fair,  shining  beauty,  and 
starry  but  Polar  blue  eyes,  he  even  resented  her 
youth,  a  thing  he  had  never  done  before. 
"She's  insufferable  in  her  cynicism,"  he 
[81] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

thought.    "I  should  like  to  teach  her  a  lesson." 

But  how?  It  was  not  his  business  to  do  that. 
If  the  Princess,  a  woman,  her  friend,  and  much 
older  than  she  was,  suffered  her  without  pro- 
test, even  seemed  quite  satisfied  with,  or  at 
any  rate  quite  indifferent  to,  her  excoriating 
views  of  every  activity,  every  demonstration,  of 
human  beings,  wiiat  could  he  seem  to  do  but 
quietly  accept  her  as  she  was?  But  to-night 
she  got  dreadfully  upon  his  nerves.  He  tingled 
with  dislike  of  her,  and  when  he  looked  at  her 
felt  that  his  eyes  were  almost  attacking  her. 
She  did  not  seem  to  notice  this,  however,  and 
went  on  composedly  pouring  out  a  stream  of 
scathing  comment  on  the  refugees  in  Switzer- 
land, while  the  Princess  crumbled  her  bread, 
played  with  the  food  set  before  her,  sipped  her 
claret,  and  stared  about  the  room. 

"Do  you  like  anyone?"  at  length  said  Der- 
rick, unable  to  bear  any  more  vituperation. 
"Do  you  believe  in  anyone?  Do  you  trust  any- 
one?" 

The  Baroness  raised  her  pale  eyebrows. 

"Some  people  are  less  unpleasant  to  me  than 
others,  of  course,"  she  said. 

"Is  that  all?" 

[82] 


"I  don't  sentimentalize  about  anyone." 

"You  certainly  don't!"  he  rejoined,  with  a 
laugh. 

"I  look  upon  sentimentality  as  a  proof  of 
ignorance." 

"Ignorance  of  what?" 

"Of  human  nature." 

"If  you'irexcuse  my  saying  so,  I  think  you 
make  a  great  mistake  in  generalizing  so  much 
as  you  do  about  humanity.  Men  and  women 
are  individuals  and  have  widely  different 
qualities." 

She  smiled,  with  a  sort  of  cold  and  superior 
venom  which  almost  maddened  him. 

"I  allow  that,  of  course.  But,  as  Schopen- 
hauer points  out " 

"I  loathe  Schopenhauer,"  Derrick  inter- 
rupted, almost  with  violence.  "I  think  his  at- 
tribution of  every  manifestation  of  humanity  to 
some  low  and  detestable  motive,  some  base  self- 
interest,  or  some  abominable  intention  to  do 
harm,  shows  him  to  have  had  a  warped  mind, 
and  to  have  been  totally  wanting  in  true  in- 
sight. Your  Tolstoy  with  his  gospel  of  love  got 
far  nearer  to  the  truth  of  human  beings  than 
Schopenhauer  ever  did." 

[83] 


"Our  Tolstoy  with  his  gospel  of  love  was  a 
humbug  of  genius,"  retorted  the  Baroness. 

"We  don't  think  so  in  England." 

"Really !  And  yet  I  have  always  understood 
that  England  was  in  possession  of  a  special 
means  for  recognizing  and  testing  humbug  in 
others." 

"And  what  means  is  that?"  asked  Derrick, 
unable  to  keep  a  certain  defiance  out  of  his  tone 
and  manner. 

Baroness  Hausen  opened  her  pale  lips  to  re- 
ply, but  she  shut  them  again  without  speaking. 
She  had  received  a  warning  look  from  the  Prin- 
cess, who  just  at  that  moment,  it  seemed,  had 
begun  to  pay  attention  to  the  conversation. 
Derrick,  who  in  his  acute  nervous  irritation  was 
exceptionally  alert  and  observant  that  night, 
caught  that  look  on  the  wing  and  was  startled 
by  it ;  it  was  so  keen,  so  subtle,  and  so  swiftly 
gone.  It  was  as  if  a  door  flew  open  and  in- 
stantly closed  again,  leaving  him  with  the  im- 
pression that  he  had  nearly,  but  not  quite, 
caught  sight  of  some  strange  and  unknown, 
even  unguessed  at,  personality.  Yes,  it  had 
been  there  behind  the  door,  but  he  had  not  had 
time  to  look  really  at  it.  Yet  something  of  it 

[84] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


he  must  have  seen — but  what?  A  pallor?  A 
gleam  as  of  fire  from  unseen  eyes?  The  sug- 
gestion of  a  razor-sharp  silhouette?  For  a 
moment  he  felt  confused  and  painfully  alone, 
like  a  man  in  a  deserted  house  at  night. 

"Let  me  tell  you  why  many  of  us  Russians 
think  Tolstoy  was  a  humbug,"  said  the  Prin- 
cess. 

And  from  that  moment,  but  as  if  with  an  ef- 
fort, she  concentrated. 

After  dinner  she  did  a  thing  which,  consider- 
ing what  had  happened  at  the  dinner-table, 
Derrick  thought  strange.  She  asked  him,  in. 
the  presence  of  Baroness  Hausen,  to  escort  the 
Baroness  to  the  Casino. 

"Katya  wants  to  play,"  she  said,  "and  I 
promised  her  to  go,  but  for  once  I  am  tired. 
The  sight  of  those  consumptives  has  tired  my 
heart  and  I  want  to  sleep.  I  shall  take  a  drug 
to-night,  now,  immediately.  Will  you  go  with 
Katya?" 

Of  course,  Derrick  could  only  say  yes.  The 
Princess  bade  him  good  night  with  a  warm 
hand-grip,  and  went  upstairs  with  the  Baron- 
ess, who  was  to  put  on  her  furs.  Meanwhile, 
feeling  all  on  edge  with  intense  nervous  irri- 

[85] 


tation,  Derrick  got  into  his  overcoat,  took  his 
hat  and  gloves,  and  waited  in  the  hall  near  the 
bureau. 

"It  is  snowing,  m'sieu!"  said  the  hall  porter, 
looking  up  from  some  letters  he  was  sorting. 

"Heavily?" 

"Yes,  m'sieu,  heavily." 

A  ray  of  hope  lighted  up  Derrick's  darkness. 
No  carriage  had  been  ordered.  It  would  prob- 
ably be  difficult  to  get  one  at  that  hour.  Pos- 
sibly when  she  knew  the  state  of  the  weather 
Baroness  Hausen  would  give  up  the  Casino. 
Derrick  fervently  hoped  so.  He  moved  away 
from  the  bureau.  He  could  not  keep  still  that 
evening.  His  friend,  the  director,  who  was  in 
his  room  on  the  right,  facing  the  corridor  which 
led  to  the  dining-room,  saw  him,  smiled,  and 
came  out  to  have  a  little  chat.  He  had  done 
everything  in  his  power  to  make  Derrick's  stay 
comfortable  and  Derrick  had  taken  a  liking  to 
him. 

"Unusually  bad  weather,  m'sieu,"  he  re- 
marked. "You  are  going  to  brave  it?" 

"It  seems  so,  unless  when  Baroness  Hausen 
hears  it  is  snowing  she  gives  up  her  idea  of 
gambling  to-night." 

[86] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"Oh,  you  are  going  with  the  Baroness?" 

He  paused.    Then  he  said : 

"A  beautiful  woman." 

"She  is  very  good  looking,"  said  Derrick. 

"It  is  wonderful — after  what  she  has  been 
through,"  said  the  director.  "But" — he  nearly 
closed  his  eyes — "it  is  better  not  to  think  of 
those  things.  One  doesn't  wish  to  have  the 
nightmare." 

He  evidently  knew  something  about  the 
Baroness's  experiences  among  the  Bolsheviks. 
Derrick  felt  curious,  but  he  only  said: 

"It  would  take  a  good  deal  to  give  one  the 
nightmare  after  this  War." 

"Mais  oui!    But  there  are  some  things " 

Again  he  stopped. 

"Madame,  the  Princess,  is  going?" 

"Not  to-night." 

"She  is  a  very  distinguished  lady,  very  dis- 
tinguished? — one  of  the  greatest  families  in 
Russia.  But  anyone  can  see  that!  I  shall  be 
very  sorry  if  she  leaves  us." 

"Leaves  you!"  said  Derrick,  startled.  "But 
surely  Princess  Aranensky  is  not  leaving  Mon- 
treux?" 

"Leaving  Montreux — oh,  no,  m'sieu!  Her 
[87] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

Excellency  is  not  leaving  Montreux.  I  only 
meant  that  I  shall  be  very  sorry  if  she  has  to 
change  her  hotel." 

At  this  moment  Baroness  Hausen,  wrapped 
up  in  furs,  got  out  of  the  lift. 

"Do  you  know  that  it  is  snowing  very  hard, 
Baroness?"  said  Derrick,  going  up  to  her. 

"Is  it?  Well,  never  mind,  I've  got  an  um- 
brella." 

And  she  held  up  a  tightly  furled  silk  um- 
brella with  a  handle  of  jade. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  wise  to  try  and  get  a  car- 
riage?" 

"That  might  take  a  long  time.  Are  you 
afraid  of  a  little  snow?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Derrick  stiffly. 

"Then  let  us  go." 

They  started  off  together. 

It  was  slippery  outside  and  very  dark,  and 
Derrick  felt  obliged  to  offer  the  Baroness  his 
arm.  She  took  it  at  once  with  an  air  of  firm 
decision,  and  they  walked  slowly  on  together 
down  the  deserted  street.  Derrick  said  nothing. 
That  evening  he  felt  so  acutely  hostile  to  his 
companion  that  he  simply  could  not  "make  con- 
versation" to  her.  He  was  unusually  tired, 

[88] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


too,  after  the  long  day  at  Leysin,  and  was  long- 
ing for  solitude  and  bed.  The  touch  of  the 
Baroness,  the  feeling  of  her  body  against  his, 
was  hateful  to  him  at  that  moment.  It  seemed 
to  create  an  ugly  intimacy  between  those  whose 
minds  and  souls  were  worlds  away  from  each 
other.  Buried  deep  in  his  comfortless  thoughts 
he  was  startled  when  he  heard  a  voice  speaking 
in  the  darkness. 

"What  was  that?"  he  said.    "I  didn't  hear." 

"I  said  that  you  disliked  me  very  much  this 
evening." 

"My  dear  Baroness!" 

"Oh,  yes.  Your  eyes  at  dinner  were  full  of 
hatred.  They  attacked  me.  I  don't  mind  that. 
Why  should  you  like  me?  Anna  is  your  friend, 
not  I.  But  when  I  am  at  the  tables  please 
don't  turn  your  mind  upon  me  with  hostility. 
I  have  a  f  eeling  that  if  you  do  it  will  bring  me 
bad  luck.  And  I  must  win  to-night." 

"I  hope  to  Heaven  you  will." 

"I  must.  You  probably  have  no  idea  what 
a  situation  Anna  is  in." 

"She  has  never  gone  into  that  with  me." 

"No,  she  wouldn't.  They  talk  of  obliging 
her  to  leave  the  hotel." 

[89] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"Obliging  the  Princess!" 

"Yes — she  can't  pay  enough  any  longer. 
Already  she  has  had  to  leave  I  don't  know  how 
many  places — the  Lorius,  the  Eden,  the 
Montreux  Palace." 

"How  horrible!" 

"It  is  very  disagreeable.  I  went  to  Geneva 
to-day  to  try  to  sell  her  pearls.  Unfortunately, 
I  failed.  I  couldn't  get  a  good  enough  price 
for  them.  Those  who  come  to  Switzerland  now 
to  buy  the  jewels  of  those  who  are  starving 
naturally — being  human — are  ferocious  profi- 
teers. I  wouldn't  throw  Anna's  pearls  to  such 
wolves,  so  I  don't  see  how  she  can  go  on  pay- 
ing her  bills  at  the  Monney." 

Derrick  understood  now  the  Princess's  pre- 
occupation during  dinner. 

"But  if  she  leaves  there  what  will  she  do?" 

"I  suppose  she  must  find  a  cheap  pension. 
But  that  sort  of  thing  won't  suit  her." 

"Of  course  not." 

"And  even  a  pension  keeper  expects  to  be 

paid.    She  has  furs  and  things  which  she  might 

sell,  of  course ;  but  again  it  would  be  to  wolves 

—wolves  who  come  here  from  Paris  to  gnaw 

the  flesh  off  our  Russian  bones." 

[90] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"How  utterly  disgusting!" 

"Almost  everything  that  is  thoroughly 
human  is  utterly  disgusting,  in  spite  of  your 
anger  with  me  at  dinner.  Here  we  are !  Now 
please  don't  stand  near  me  or  stare  at  me  when 
I  am  playing  or  I  shall  lose  my  money." 

"Do  you  think  I  have  the  evil  eye,  then?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  that.  But  you  dis- 
like me,  and,  therefore,  you  might  bring  me 
bad  luck." 

And  she  left  Derrick  and  pushed  her  way 
implacably  through  the  small  crowd  round  the 
tables. 

As  he  knew  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to 
stay  in  the  gamblers'  room  and  to  keep  his  eyes 
always  turned  away  from  the  Baroness,  Der- 
rick went  away  and  strolled  about  the  almost 
deserted  Casino.  The  weather,  no  doubt,  had 
kept  all  but  determined  gamblers  at  home.  He 
saw  no  one  whom  he  knew,  and  chafed  with  ir- 
ritation at  having  to  dance  attendance  on  the 
Baroness.  His  mind  ran  perpetually  on  his 
talk  with  her  in  the  street.  It  had  shocked  him. 
Although  the  Princess  had  several  times  men- 
tioned the  fact  of  her  poverty,  he  knew  that 
he  had  never  realized  it  thoroughly  until  now. 

[91] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

Having  always  seen  her  beautifully  dressed 
and  living  in  luxury,  having  always  known  her 
scrupulously  fair  about  money  matters,  de- 
termined to  "pay  her  way"  whenever  she  and  he 
were  together  and  sharing  pleasures,  generous, 
even  lavish,  in  the  matter  of  tips,  he  had  sup- 
posed that,  though  no  doubt  "hard  up"  in  com- 
parison with  her  condition  before  the  War,  she 
must  be  still  moderately  well  off.  He  knew 
that  very  rich  people,  when  reduced  to  mod- 
erate means,  often  speak  as  if  they  were  beg- 
gars. Why  not  the  Princess  Aranensky? 
But  now  that  illusion  was  gone.  A  woman  of 
her  rank  who  had  been  turned  out  of  several 
hotels — for  that  was  what  it  came  to  if  the 
Baroness's  statements  were  true,  and  he  had 
no  reason  to  doubt  them — must  be  almost  pen- 
niless. What  was  going  to  become  of  her? 
What  would  she  do  in  the  future  ?  He  felt  full 
of  pity,  of  sympathy  for  her.  He  longed  to 
help  her.  The  question  was  how  to  help  her. 
Derrick  was  very  well  off,  and  by  nature  a 
chivalrous  and  generous  man.  He  would  glad- 
ly have  offered  to  lend  the  Princess  some 
money,  but  he  felt  quite  certain  that  she  would 
refuse  a  loan.  For  how  could  she  ever  repay 

[92] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


it?  The  condition  of  Russia,  where,  no  doubt, 
all  her  fortune  had  been  placed,  forbade  any 
hope  of  better  things  for  a  long  time,  perhaps 
for  many  years  to  come.  Such  a  woman  could 
never  hope  to  earn  any  money.  To  lend  to  her, 
therefore,  would  be  to  give  under  another 
name.  And  he  was  positive  that  she  would 
never  accept  such  a  gift,  she  who  had  always 
refused  even  the  gift  of  a  cup  of  tea  at  his 
hands. 

With  Baroness  Hausen  it  would  be  different, 
he  thought.  He  could  imagine  her  accepting 
anything,  considering  it,  perhaps,  as  partial 
repayment  for  what  she  had  gone  through  at 
the  hands  of  humanity.  But  the  Princess  was 
not  like  the  Baroness — thank  God !  He  almost 
hated  the  one,  and  he  almost 

He  sat  down  on  a  straight  chair.  A  small 
orchestra  was  playing  in  the  distance,  and 
seemed  to  him  to  confuse  his  mind,  preventing 
clear  thinking.  And  then  he  was  tired  this 
evening.  The  sound  of  the  orchestra  reminded 
him — he  did  not  know  why — of  the  months  just 
before  the  outbreak  of  war,  of  the  delirium  of 
pleasure  which  had  preceded  the  crash.  He 
thought  of  the  craze  for  the  Russian  ballet,  of 

[93] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

the  mania  women  had  had  for  undressing,  of 
the  dances  borrowed  from  South  American 
negroes,  of  the  madness  in  art,  of  the  hysterical 
lectures  on  Futurism  gravely  discussed  by 
humbugs  who  should  have  known  better.  He 
remembered  the  remark  of  a  friend  who,  with 
him,  had  been  watching  some  young  people 
dancing  in  the  ball-room  of  a  famous  London 
hotel,  "When  are  they  going  down  on  all 
fours?" 

And  what  was  the  difference  now?  Europe 
in  the  meanwhile  had  been  deluged  with  blood. 
The  rod  had  been  used  unsparingly.  But  did 
punishment  have  any  real,  any  lasting,  effect 
upon  the  soul  of  man?  Was  the  Princess  right 
in  her  pessimism?  Was  he  wrong  in  his  secret 
resistance  to  pessimism?  He  compared  his  cir- 
cumstances with  hers  and  drew  a  conclusion 
from  the  comparison.  But  she  must  not  be 
ruined  in  nature  as  Baroness  Hausen  had  been. 

Perhaps  he  had  the  power  to  prevent  that,  if 
only  he  could  somehow  persuade  her  to  let  him 
exercise  it. 

The  orchestra  stopped. 

He  thought  of  the  pearls. 

"You  can  buy  jewels  in  Montreux  cheap, 
[94] 


very  cheap.  And  if  you  can  carry  them  to 
London  there  is  a  nice  profit  for  you !"  Those 
words  of  the  director  of  the  Monney  started  up 
in  his  mind.  He  had  hardly  attended  to  them 
at  the  time,  but  he  had  remembered  them,  and 
now  he  repeated  them  to  himself,  turning  over, 
while  he  did  so,  a  certain  matter  in  his  mind. 
When,  presently,  he  got  up  from  his  chair  and 
strolled  towards  the  room  where  the  orchestra 
was  again  playing  (this  time  a  selection  from 
"Carmen"),  he  was  aware  of  two  possible 
means  by  which  he  might  save  the  Princess 
from  the  ignominy  and  ruin  which  threatened 
her.  He  might  try  to  persuade  her  to  marry 
him  and  to  share  his  fortune ;  or  he  might  sug- 
gest driving  a  bargain  with  her,  buying  her 
pearls  at  a  moderate  price  in  order  to  make 
money  by  selling  them  in  Paris  or  London.  In 
the  latter  event  he  would  have  to  smuggle  them 
over  the  frontier.  Of  course,  the  idea  of  mak- 
ing money  out  of  her  difficulty  was  abhorrent 
to  him,  but  his  knowledge  of  her  character 
made  him  feel  almost  sure  that  she  would  never 
consent  to  sell  her  jewels  to  him  unless  he  was 
able  to  convince  her  that  by  doing  so  she  was 
putting  him  in  the  way  of  making  money  for 

[95] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

himself,  that  he  came  to  her  as  a  would-be 
speculator,  not  as  a  would-be  benefactor. 

And  the  other  alternative? 

Derrick  was  now  fifty-three,  and  had  long 
ago  given  up  all  thought  of  marrying.  Like 
most  men  he  had  wished  to  marry,  and  had 
once  met  a  woman  whom  he  had  felt  he  could 
be  very  happy  with.  But  it  was  a  long  time 
ago.  She  had  been  in  love  with  another  man 
and  had  refused  Derrick.  Since  then  he  had 
never  wished  to  link  his  life  permanently  with 
any  woman's.  Certainly  he  had  often  felt  lone- 
ly; but  gradually  he  had  come  to  value  almost 
inordinately  what  he  thought  of  as  his  "free- 
dom." Prolonged  observation  of  the  world 
had  led  him  to  the  belief  that  the  proportion 
of  unsatisfactory  marriages  to  satisfactory 
marriages  was  as  three  to  one.  The  secrets  of 
sad  marriages  are  often  very  well  kept,  but 
Derrick  was  a  close  observer,  and  frequently 
felt  what  he  did  not  actually  know.  A  fairly 
long  life,  much  of  which  had  been  passed  in  the 
society  of  his  fellow-beings,  had  made  him  dis- 
trust profoundly  what  is  sometimes  called 
"married  bliss."  As  well  as  this  distrust  there 
was  another  reason  against  changing  his  state. 

[96] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


He  considered  himself  too  old  to  marry.  There 
was,  he  thought,  something  almost  ridiculous  in 
offering  grey  hairs  and  a  body  past  its  prime, 
to  say  nothing  of  a  possibly  wrinkled  mind,  to 
an  attractive  woman.  Certainly  Princess 
Aranensky,  though  energetic,  healthy  and  ap- 
parently, strong,  was  no  longer  a  young 
woman.  But  nevertheless 

It  was  rather  marvellous  to  Derrick  that  he 
should  even  for  a  moment  be  thinking  of  mar- 
riage as  possible  to  him.  It  was  evident  that 
he  had  grown  to  care  for  the  Princess  far  more 
than  he  had  suspected  till  now.  She  had  made 
life  interesting  to  him  again,  vital,  definitely 
worth  something.  She  had  swept  away  his 
morbid  distrust  of  himself,  had  subtly  put  him 
on  better,  even  on  quite  good,  terms  with 
himself. 

She  must  be  a  singularly  courageous  woman. 
He  tried  mentally  to  put  himself  into  her  situa- 
tion without  imaginatively  changing  his  sex. 
Could  he  have  shown  such  a  brave  face  to  the 
world  in  similar  circumstances?  He  doubted 
it.  But,  of  course,  he  would  have  set  to  and 
worked.  She  couldn't  do  that.  And  yet  she 
held  up  her  head,  and  had  concealed  from  him 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

any  suggestion,  even  the  smallest  hint,  of  de- 
spair. 

And  she  still  had  a  sitting-room  and  filled  it 
with  flowers. 

Fatalism,  perhaps,  had  her  fast  in  its  grip. 

It  was  difficult  for  him,  an  Englishman,  to 
understand  such  a  nature  as  hers,  thoroughly, 
even  drastically  Russian,  perhaps,  under  its 
cosmopolitan  surface.  And  yet  how  splendidly 
they  got  on  together! 

He  thought  of  the  look  she  had  cast  at 
Baroness  Hausen  during  dinner,  and  wondered 
what  exactly  it  had  meant.  It  had  made  him 
feel  suddenly  shut  out,  a  thoroughly  lonely 
man,  pushed  away  from  a  friendship  he  cer- 
tainly valued  very  much.  But,  of  course,  two 
women  friends,  both  of  them  Russians,  must 
have  understandings  which  he  couldn't  share. 
He  was,  perhaps,  hyper-sensitive  in  matters 
connected  with  the  Princess.  Didn't  that  prove 
that  his  feeling  for  her  was  much  stronger  than 
lie  had  ever  suspected  till  this  evening? 

He  tried  to  imagine  how  it  would  be  if  he 
•and  she  were  married.  But  that  was  a  job 
far  too  difficult  for  him  in  his  present  condi- 
tion. He  went  to  the  restaurant  and  asked  for 

[98] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


a  coffee.  The  snows,  he  thought,  had  got  inta 
his  brain  and  clouded  it  as  they  clouded  the 
branches  of  the  trees  in  the  forests.  When  he 
had  finished  the  coffee  he  again  walked  about, 
and  presently  found  himself  at  the  entrance  to 
the  room  where  the  gamblers  were.  Despite 
the  prohibition  of  Baroness  Hausen  he  stood 
still  there  and  looked  into  the  room,  seeking  her 
out. 

She  had  got  hold  of  a  chair  and  was  sitting. 
A  cigarette  was  between  her  pale  lips.  She 
looked  stern,  concentrated,  and  almost  old  in 
her  intentness.  Derrick  could  not  tell  from  her 
expression  whether  she  had  been  winning  or 
not.  Besides — did  it  really  matter?  This  was 
not  Monte  Carlo.  However  lucky  she  was  the 
Baroness  could  not  hope  to  redeem  the  fortunes 
of  herself  and  the  Princess — linked  together  it 
seemed,  though  he  was  not  sure  of  that — at  the 
tables  of  Montreux. 

It  was  a  bad  face,  he  thought,  considering 
the  Baroness,  who  was  evidently  too  absorbed 
in  the  game  to  be  aware  of  his  presence  in  the 
doorway.  The  beauty  of  the  colouring,  the 
regularity  of  the  features,  were  spoiled  for  him 
by  the  sheer  ugliness  of  the  expression.  This 

[99] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

proved  to  him  that  he  was  anything  rather  than 
a  pagan.  Moral  beauty  meant  something  to 
him,  after  all. 

"But  most  gamblers  are  ugly  while  they  are 
gambling!"  he  reflected. 

He  had  noticed  that  again  and  again  in  the 
rooms  at  Monte  Carlo. 

What  would  the  Princess  look  like  if  she 
were  playing? 

She  had  never  gambled  while  he  had  been  at 
Montreux,  and  had  sometimes  spoken  of 
Katya's  taste  for  Boule  with  a  slight  touch  of 
almost  pitying  sarcasm. 

Could  she  really  like  Katya?  And  if  she 
were  able  to,  was  it  possible  that  she  could  ever 
be  sincerely  fond  of  him?  Would  not  the  one 
liking  rule  out  the  other,  proving  that  her  soul 
and  his  could  never  really  touch? 

As  he  asked  himself  this  question  Baroness 
Hausen  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes.  Instantly 
she  got  up  and  came  towards  him,  pushing  her 
way  through  the  people  behind  and  around  her. 
Her  face  was  even  uglier  than  before  as  she 
said: 

"I  begged  you  not  to  look  at  me,  not  to  turn 
your  mind  on  me!" 

[100] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"But,  my  dear  Baroness,  I  have  only 
just- 

"I  have  been  winning  for  once.  Everything 
went  well  with  me  until  a  moment  ago,  when  I 
hegan  to  lose.  I  lost  three  coups  running, 
looked  up,  and  there  you  were  standing  and 
gazing  straight  at  me.  It  really  is  too  bad, 
when  you  promised  me " 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  said  Derrick,  rigid 
with  vexation.  "When  you  have  finished  play- 
ing you  will  find  me  in  the  hall." 

And  he  turned  abruptly  and  left  her. 

"She  treats  me  exactly  as  if  I  were  a  ser- 
vant!" he  thought.  "But  this  shall  be  the  last 
time.  I'll  never  submit  to  this  sort  of  thing 
again." 

For  a  moment  he  was  inclined  to  include  the 
Princess  as  well  as  Baroness  Hausen  within 
the  circle  of  his  hostile  thoughts. 

"The  Princess  makes  a  convenience  of  me," 
he  said  to  himself.  "She  must  know  I  hate  the 
Baroness,  and  yet  she  palms  her  off  on  me.  I 
might  as  well  be  a  footman  and  have  done 
with  it." 

He  tingled  with  vexation  as  he  hovered 
about,  waiting  the  pleasure  of  that  detestable 
[101] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

young  woman.  He  felt  sure  that  she  would 
not  come  until  play  was  over  for  the  night,  and 
so  it  happened.  The  Casino  was  about  to  be 
closed  when  she  appeared  at  last. 

"I'm  afraid  it  has  been  rather  dull  for  you," 
she  said.  "Why  didn't  you  play?" 

"You  gave  me  a  very  strong  hint  to  keep  out 
of  the  room,"  he  said. 

"You  must  forgive  me.  Probably  you  don't 
need  money.  I  do.  And  I  have  such  terrible 
luck.  To-night  I  was  making  a  little  for  once, 
and  naturally  I  didn't  want  the  luck  to  turn. 
But  I  fear  I  was  brusque.  Now  do  pardon  me, 
please." 

"I  beg  you  to  say  no  more  about  it,"  said 
Derrick,  with  a  stiff  and  very  English  man- 
ner. 

They  set  out  on  the  walk  home.  This  time 
Derrick  did  not — he  simply  could  not — offer 
the  Baroness  his  arm.  Nor  did  he  attempt  to 
keep  up  any  conversation.  They  two  could 
never  be  friends.  He  knew  that.  And  he  was 
not  in  the  mood  for  pretences.  When  they 
reached  the  hotel  he  was  thankful.  The  lights 
were  still  on  in  the  room  just  beyond  the  hall, 
but  there  was  nobody  there.  In  the  bureau 
[102] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


was  the  night  porter  reading  the  Gazette  de 
Lausanne. 

"Good  night,"  Derrick  said  to  the  Baroness. 

But  instead  of  going  upstairs  to  her  room,  as 
he  expected,  she  said: 

"Let  us  go  in  there  for  a  minute.  I  am  not 
sleepy,  and  want  a  last  cigarette.  And  let  us 
have  something  to  drink." 

"What  would  you  like?" 

"Oh,  a  brandy  and  soda  will  do.  But  you 
must  have  one  with  me." 

"I'm  really  not " 

"I  can't  drink  alone." 

"Very  well." 

He  told  the  hall  porter,  and  followed  the 
Baroness  into  the  room  beyond  the  hall. 

When  the  two  drinks  were  brought  Derrick 
lighted  his  pipe.  He  felt  that  he  was  "in  for 
it,"  and  must  try  to  make  the  best  of  things. 
There  was  no  hope  of  getting  rid  of  the  Baron- 
ess yet.  She  looked  abominably  wide  awake, 
and  evidently  was  far  too  mentally  tough  to 
be  made  uncomfortable  by  other  people's  feel- 
ings. But  though  Derrick  stayed  with  her  he 
determined  not  to  make  conversation  to  her, 
or  to  help  her  socially.  Not  even  his  sense  of 
[103] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

politeness  was  capable  of  that  at  this  moment. 
After  saying  a  few  casual  things  about  the 
fortunes  of  the  gamblers  that  evening  she 
turned  in  her  chair,  faced  him  fully,  and  said. 

"You  like  Anna  very  much,  don't  you?" 

"Of  course  I  like  the  Princess,"  answered 
Derrick,  rigidly. 

"And  she  likes  you  better  than  anyone  else 
here." 

"I  don't  know  about  that." 

"Well,  I  know  it." 

"If  it  is  so  I  am  very  glad,"  returned  Der- 
rick. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  something  that  she  would 
never  ask  for  herself.  Can  you  help  her?" 

"In  what  way?" 

"If  something  isn't  done  by  somebody  she 
will  be  put  out  on  the  pavement  very  soon." 

"I  should  naturally  be  very  glad  to  help  the 
Princess,  but  I  hardly  think  she  would  wish 
such  a  matter  to  be  discussed  between  us." 

"But  she  will  never  speak  to  you,  and  if  she 
knew  I  had  she  would  hate  me  for  it." 

"Then,  surely,  we  had  better  talk  of  some- 
thing else." 

'[104] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"No.  I  made  up  my  mind  at  Geneva  to 
speak  to  you,  and  I  am  going  to." 

Her  manner  was  as  implacable  as  her  face, 
and  Derrick  realized  the  absolute  uselessness 
of  attempting  any  opposition  to  her.  There 
was  no  appeal  against  this  young  woman's  de- 
termination to  do  whatever  she  wanted  to  do, 
because  she  was  totally  devoid  of  all  natural 
sensitiveness. 

"She  has  about  as  much  delicacy  in  her  as  a 
steam-roller  has,"  thought  Derrick,  in  desper- 
ation. 

He  said  nothing,  only  pulled  at  his  pipe  and 
looked  on  the  ground,  lest  his  companion  might 
think  that  his  eyes  were  again  attacking  her. 

"There  is  only  one  way  in  which  you  could 
help  Anna,"  continued  the  Baroness  Hausen, 
"and  that  is  by  buying  her  pearls." 

"If  the  Princess  wishes "  began  Der- 
rick. 

But  she  interrupted  him. 

"Anna  would  never  ask  you  to  do  such  a 
thing.  She  would  rather  starve  than  do  that, 
because  I  know  she  considers  you  as  a  friend, 
and  she  has  ideals  about  friendship,  especially 
between  women  and  men,  which  I  don't  share. 
[105] 


No,  I  am  asking  you.  If  Anna  could  only  sell 
her  pearls  for  a  reasonable  sum  all  would  be 
well.  That  is  why  I  went  to  Geneva  to-day. 
I  knew  there  was  a  man  there  from  Paris — a 
soi  disant  gentleman — who  was  buying  jewels 
cheap  to  sell  them  dear.  I  thought  I  might 
persuade  him  to  give  me  a  reasonable  price, 
£6,000,  for  the  pearls,  which  are  worth  at  least 
double  to  a  dealer.  I  failed.  That  is  why  I  am 
speaking  to  you.  If  only  you  would  buy 
Anna's  pearls  you  could  save  her  from  humilia- 
tion and  make  a  heavy  profit  for  yourself  at 
the—  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

Derrick  had  got  up  from  his  seat. 

"Baroness,  I'm  sorry,  but  I  must  decline  to 
discuss  the  Princess's  affairs  with  you." 

"But- 

"You  don't  understand  me.  I  am  not  the 
sort  of  man  who  tries  to  make  a  profit  out  of  a 
woman  in  distress." 

"I  only  wished  to  point  out  to  you  that  you 
would  not  suffer  by  being  kind." 

"Please  let  us  say  no  more  about  it." 

Oh,  very  well.  I  only  wished  to  help  Anna. 
She  is  too  proud,  or  too  sensitive,  to  help  her- 
self. But  I've  had  all  that  sort  of  thing 
[106] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


knocked  out  of  me  by  the  War.  The  Bolshe- 
viks have  taught  me  what  doesn't  pay.  Now, 
good  night.  I  don't  apologize  for  what  I  have 
said.  I  think  I  was  quite  right  to  say  it.  As 
far  as  I  can  see,  only  you  can  help  Anna." 

She  crushed  out  the  fire  in  her  cigarette  on 
an  ash  tray,  finished  her  brandy  and  soda  and 
went  up  to  bed. 


[107] 


CHAPTER  VI 

"How  sickening!"  Derrick  thought.  He  was 
lying  awake  in  his  bedroom,  turning  over  in  his 
mind  the  events  of  the  evening.  The  Baron- 
ess's request  had  irritated  him  intensely,  be- 
cause now,  if  he  did  what  he  had  thought  of 
doing,  and  offered  to  buy  the  Princess's  pearls, 
it  would  seem  as  if  the  Baroness  had  prompted 
his  action,  as  if  he  were  obeying  a  sort  of 
command  given  by  her,  or,  at  any  rate,  as  if 
he  were  following  up  her  suggestion.  She 
would  never  believe  that  the  idea  had  occurred 
to  him  before  she  had  spoken.  He  told  him- 
self that  it  didn't  matter  what  she  believed  or 
disbelieved.  Nevertheless,  his  hostility  to  her 
made  him  hate  the  thought  of  appearing  to 
have  been  guided  by  her  in  anything  he  did. 

If  only  she  had  not  spoken ! 

For  one  moment  it  occurred  to  him  that  pos- 
sibly there  was  an  understanding  between  the 
two  women,  that  possibly  the  Princess  had 
known  what  the  Baroness  meant  to  do  that 
[108] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


night,  had  agreed  to  it,  had  even,  perhaps,  sug- 
gested it.  But  he  dismissed  this  idea  as  un- 
worthy, contemptible,  one  of  those  ugly  night 
thoughts  which  are  bred  of  insomnia.  The  two 
women  were  certainly  friends,  but  their  natures 
were  not  akin.  One  had  a  distinguished  nature, 
bold,  no  doubt,  but  essentially  refined;  the 
other  had  an  abominably  coarse  strain,  tram- 
pled on  the  delicacies,  derided  them  in  her 
soul.  He  would  not  be  so  mad  as  to  confuse 
the  one  with  the  other,  the  woman  he  had 
thought  of  as  a  possible  life  companion  with 
the  woman  he  frankly  detested.  His  sense  of 
values  was  too  accurate  for  that. 

In  the  morning,  after  an  uneasy  and  unre- 
freshing  sleep,  he  got  up,  resolved  to  do  some- 
thing definite  in  regard  to  the  Princess  that 
day,  but  undecided  what  that  something  would 
be. 

During  the  morning  he  did  not  see  her,  but 
when  he  came  in  to  dejeuner  she  was  there 
with  the  Baroness  and  greeted  him  in  her  usual 
cordial  manner.  Her  preoccupation  seemed  to 
have  gone,  and  she  looked  fresh  and  cheerful. 
As  he  stood  by  her  table  speaking  to  her  he 
could  scarcely  believe  she  was  in  such  desperate 
[109] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

straits  for  money.  Certainly  she  had  a  marvel- 
lous courage,  a  quality  which  he  admired  im- 
mensely. 

"Katya  was  lucky  last  night,"  she  said;  "she 
says  you  brought  her  luck." 

Derrick  exchanged  a  glance  with  the  Baron- 
ess. 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  a  mascot,"  he  re- 
marked, rather  drily.  "To  tell  the  truth,  the 
gambling  here  doesn't  amuse  me." 

"The  stakes  are  ridiculously  low,"  said  the 
Baroness,  "but  paupers  are  thankful  for  any 
small  mercies.  .  If  we  were  at  Monte 
Carlo- 

"Thank  Heaven  we  are  not!"  interrupted 
the  Princess.  "You  would  gamble  away  your 
dresses  and  hats." 

"And  your  pearls  perhaps!"  said  the  Baron- 
ess. 

Derrick's  eyes  rested  on  the  pearls  which  the 
Princess  was  wearing,  and  he  reddened 
slightly. 

"Well,  I  shall  see  you  after  lunch,"  he  said. 
And  he  went  to  his  table. 

While  he  ate  he  tried  to  decide  what  he  was 
going  to  do.  He  glanced  now  and  then  to- 
[110] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


wards  the  Princess,  and  wondered  how  it  would 
be  if  they  were  husband  and  wife.  He  would 
soon  get  rid  of  the  Baroness;  that  was  certain. 
He  wondered,  too,  whether  she  was  living  on 
her  friend's  money  or  whether  she  had  paid  her 
own  way  in  the  hotel.  If  she  had  nothing  of 
her  own  she  had  had  a  personal  reason  for 
speaking  as  she  had  done  on  the  previous  night, 
and  in  helping  the  Princess  he  would  be  doing 
her  a  good  turn.  He  wished  she  were  not  so  de- 
testable and  that  he  could  like  her  or,  at  any 
rate,  pity  her.  But  he  could  not  do  either.  He 
could  only  wish  her  away. 

The  two  women  left  the  dining-room  before 
he  had  finished.  As  the  Princess's  tall  figure 
disappeared  through  the  doorway  he  asked 
himself  what  he  would  feel  if  she  were  dis- 
appearing at  the  same  time  out  of  his  life. 

She  would  leave  a  great  gap  if  he  stayed  on 
in  Montreux.  The  place,  he  knew,  would  be 
almost  unbearable  to  him  now  without  her. 
But  if  he  too  went  away?  If  he  travelled,  or 
if  he  went  back  again  to  his  old  life  in  Eng- 
land— how  would  it  be  then?  Just  how  much 
did  she  mean  to  him?  He  could  not  decide. 
Perhaps  his  uncertainty  meant  that  she  was 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

not  indispensable  to  him.  Yet  he  hated  to 
think  of  never  seeing  her  again.  A  man  of  his 
age  probably  could  not  "fall  in  love"  as  young 
people  do.  But  did  he  love  the  Princess?  He 
said  to  himself  that  it  was  ridiculous  to  be  de- 
bating about  such  a  thing,  that  the  very  fact  of 
his  doing  so  must  mean  that  love  was  far  from 
him.  Nevertheless,  he  did  not  feel  certain  even 
of  that.  Indecision  possessed  him,  and  when 
he  got  up  to  leave  the  dining  room  he  did  not 
know  what  he  was  going  to  do.  All  he  knew 
was  that  he  was  firmly  resolved  to  do  some- 
thing quite  definite  before  another  day  dawned. 
He  would  draw  the  inspiration  which  would 
prompt  him  to  action  from  the  Princess  herself. 
The  day  was  sunny  and  cold,  and  the  lake 
was  calm  and  looked  almost  like  silk  in  the  pale 
gold  of  the  sun-rays.  He  decided  to  suggest 
a  walk  on  the  curving  path  by  the  water-side 
which  leads  towards  Vevey.  Few  people  went 
there  in  winter,  he  knew,  and  in  the  afternoon 
there  would  probably  be  scarcely  anyone.  He 
looked  for  the  Princess  in  the  public  rooms,  but 
did  not  find  her.  She  had  probably  gone  up 
to  rest  and  read  after  luncheon.  He  sat  down 
[112] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


to  wait,  certain  that  she  would  come  down  be- 
fore very  long. 

Soon  after  two  o'clock  she  appeared  in  the 
hall  dressed  for  walking,  her  pointed  stick  in 
her  hand.  He  got  up  and  joined  her. 

"If  you  are  going  for  a  walk  may  I  come 
with  you?" 

"Yes,  do." 

"Where  shall  we  go?" 

"Anywhere  you  like." 

He  suggested  the  lake-side;  she  agreed  and 
they  started. 

For  a  little  while  they  walked  in  silence. 
Then  they  began  to  talk  about  nature,  the 
various  faint  colours  on  the  water,  the  effects 
of  cloud  and  sunshine  on  the  mountains,  the 
differing  beauties  which  come  with  the  turn- 
ing of  the  wheel  of  Time  during  the  hours  of  a 
day.  The  Princess  said  that  she  loved  best  the 
frankness  and  boldness  of  noon;  Derrick  was 
for  twilight. 

"And  in  people?"  she  said. 

"How  do  you  mean,  exactly?" 

"Which  do  you  like  best  in  people,  the  noon- 
tide character,  bold,  direct,  forcible,  and,  per- 
haps, rather  shadowless,  or  the  twilight  nature, 
[113] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

full  of  softness  and  shadows,  of  scarcely  defined 
nuances  and  suggestions  of  the  not  fully  re- 
vealed?" 

He  hesitated  with  his  eyes  upon  her. 

"I  scarcely  know,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  sure 
that  I  have  ever  thought  about  character  in 
just  that  way.  And  you?" 

"I  like  the  noontide  character.  There  is 
something  in  it  I  can  grip  and  hold  on  to,  some- 
thing I  feel  safe  with.  That  is  why,  on  the 
whole,  I  like  men  better  than  women." 

"Would  you — would  you  ever  marry 
again?" 

He  said  it,  almost  blurted  it  out,  abruptly 
before  he  knew  his  own  intention.  The  words 
seemed  to  have  come  into  his  mouth  without 
being  impelled  by  any  action  of  his  mind. 
Without  any  change  of  expression  the  Princess 
replied : 

"I  consider  that  I  have  passed  the  age  for 
marriage.  I  do  not  believe  in  middle-age  mar- 
riages. There  is  little  romance  in  them,  and 
my  experience  tells  me  that  marriage  without 
romance  is  like  wine  that  has  been  made  thin  by 
the  addition  of  water.  Besides,  in  any  case,  I 
think  marriage  a  very  dangerous  experiment. 
[114] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


Women,  I  suppose,  have  to  make  it  if  they  get 
the  chance,  but  if  I  were  a  man  marriage  would 
be  the  last  thing  I  should  undertake." 

"I  dare  say  you  are  right,"  said  Derrick. 

"Your  condition  shows  me  that  you  hold  my 
opinion  on  that  matter,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

And  she  went  on  talking  about  all  sorts  of 
things. 

Presently  they  came  to  the  end  of  the  path 
and  turned  to  go  back. 

"To  the  eternal  Montreux!"  the  Princess  re- 
marked. 

"I  wish — I  wish  you  were  free,"  said  Der- 
rick. 

"My  friend — so  do  I !  It  is  terrible  to  have 
one's  wings  clipped  if  one  has  a  nature  like 
mine.  I  don't  say  I  am  an  eagle,  but  really 
here  I  sometimes  feel  like  one — in  a  cage." 

"Would  you — could  you  ever  allow  me  to 
open  the  door?" 

"You!    How?" 

"It  would  be  quite  easy." 

"I'm  afraid  not.  I'm  afraid  it  would  be  im- 
possible." 

"Indeed  it  wouldn't." 

"But  you  know  my  strict  principles  about 
[115] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

money.    And  only  money  can  open  the  cage- 
door.    So  you  see!" 

"The  quid  pro  quo  makes  everything  quite 
right  in  such  a  matter,  I  think." 

"The  quid  pro  quo?" 

"Yes.  Why  don't  you  sell  those  beautiful 
pearls  of  yours?  Surely  freedom  is  more  to 
you  than  some  strings  of  pretty  things  to  hang 
round  your  neck?" 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  I  have  long  ceased  to  care 
for  jewels." 

"Then  let  me  buy  yours." 

The  Princess  looked  frankly  surprised. 

"You  I  But  you  are  not  a  trafficker  in  such 
things,"  she  said.  "One  has  only  to  look  at  you 
to  know  that  that  sort  of  business  is  quite  out 
of  your  line.  Why,  the  mere  thought  of  you 
dealing  in  jewels  makes  me  smile." 

And,  indeed,  she  showed  her  splendid  strong 
teeth  in  a  smile  which  seemed  bordering  on  a  fit 
of  undisguised  laughter. 

"A  lot  of  people  are  buying  up  jewels  and 
other  things  in  Switzerland  in  order  to  sell 
them  at  a  profit  elsewhere,"  said  Derrick.  "It's 
a  very  paying  business.  Jewels  are  fetching 
immense  prices  in  Paris  and  London." 
[116] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"Yes,  that  is  true.  No  doubt  if  I  were  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix  I  could  walk  into  a  jeweller's 
shop  and  get  a  big  price  for  my  pearls.  They 
would  go  to  the  wife  of  a  war  profiteer,  one  of 
the  new  guinea-pigs  whom  I  hear  of  but  seldom 
see — though  a  few  come  here  from  time  to 
time." 

"Forgive  me — but — but  have  you  ever  tried 
to  sell  your  pearls?" 

"Yes,  more  than  once.  But  the  gentlemen 
to  whom  I  applied,  knowing  I  was  a  lady  un- 
accustomed to  such  matters  and  in  great  diffi- 
culties for  money,  naturally  tried  to  swindle  me 
over  the  price.  The  pearls  are  worth  at  least 
twelve  thousand  pounds.  I  am  willing  to  sell 
them  for  six  thousand.  But  the  gentlemen  who 
come  to  Switzerland  on  business  do  not  con- 
sider that  to  make  a  profit  of  some  thousands 
on  an  outlay  of  six  thousand  is  sufficient  pay- 
ment for  their  trouble." 

"Princess — let  me  give  you  six  thousand," 
said  Derrick,  reddening.  "You  will  be  putting 
a  large  profit  into  my  pocket.  Isn't  that  a  quid 
pro  quo?" 

"I  am  sure  you  are  not  in  Montreux  to  make 
money,  my  friend." 

[117] 


"Nevertheless,  I  have  some  business  instinct 
and,  frankly,  this  affair  appeals  to  it." 

She  looked  full  into  his  eyes. 

"You  would  merely  do  it  for  my  benefit." 

"And  pocket  a  lot  of  money  into  the  bar- 
gain." 

"That — by  the  way.  Besides,  you  would 
have  to  smuggle  the  pearls  out  of  Switzerland." 

"That  wouldn't  be  difficult.  I  should  wear 
them.  I  don't  think  I  am  the  type  of  man  they 
would  be  likely  to  search  at  the  douane" 

The  Princess  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"Nio,  indeed!  You  would  never  be  sus- 
pected." 

"Then  will  you  agree?" 

After  a  moment  of  silence  she  said,  in  a  dif- 
ferent tone  of  voice,  more  earnest,  more  inti- 
mate: 

"I  don't  like  transactions  of  this  sort  between 
friends.  And  you  and  I  are  friends.  It  is  true 
that  I  should  be  let  out  of  my  cage  and  that 
you — but  I  don't  like  the  idea.  There  is  some- 
thing repugnant  to  me  in  taking  money  from 
you  even  in  such  a  way  as  you  suggest.  Oh, 
this  horrible  War!  What  situations  it  drives 
us  into!" 

[118] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"We  must  face  them  with  common  sense. 
My  common  sense  tells  me  that  when  we  can 
both  profit  by  a  very  simple  action  we  should 
be  foolish  to  be  held  back  from  it  by  too  great 
sensitiveness.  And  something  else — certainly 
not  common  sense — tells  me  that  I  was  led  to 
come  here  for  the  very  purpose  of  opening  the 
door  of  your  cage." 

She  turned  her  big  black  eyes  on  him — and 
now  they  looked  deep  and  mysterious. 

"It  is  strange,"  she  said,  "that  the  very  first 
time  I  saw  you  I  felt  as  if  you  had  come  to 
Montreux  because  of  me.  You  never  seemed 
to  be  really  a  stranger  to  me." 

"If  there  is  a  purpose  in  destiny  I  think  the 
important  events  in  our  lives  must  be  planned. 
Are  you  a  woman  who  would  strive  to  inter- 
fere with  the  plan  made  for  you?" 

"Such  striving  would  be  useless,  of  course," 
she  said. 

And  then* they  walked  on  in  silence  till  they 
were  in  front  of  the  garden  of  the  Monney 
Hotel.  There  she  stopped. 

"I  will  go  in  now,"  she  said,  "and  have  a 
long,  quiet  think.  When  I  have  to  make  an 
important  decision  I  lie  down  on  my  sofa  and 
[119] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

give  myself  into  the  hands  of  the  Fates.  It  is 
almost  like  giving  oneself  up  to  an  anaesthetic 
— something  about  it  which  seems  physical.  It 
is  a  resigning  of  the  will  to  the  Guides.  I  have 
no  idea  at  present  whether  I  shall  accept  your 
suggestion  or  not.  But  some  time  this  evening, 
or  at  latest  to-morrow  morning,  I  shall  know. 
Now,  au  revoir." 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  pressed  his 
warmly,  even  held  it  for  a  moment.  In  that 
moment  Derrick  felt  inclined  to  say,  "Why  not 
solve  the  question  by  marrying  me?" 

But  he  did  not  speak.  For  he  realized  that 
the  Princess  had,  in  effect,  very  cleverly  re- 
fused him  when  they  were  walking  towards 
Vevey.  If  he  made  her  refuse  him  more  defi- 
nitely there  would  probably  be  an  end  to  all 
hope  of  helping  her. 

He  watched  her  tall  figure  walking  away 
from  him  and  wondered  whether  he  regretted 
her  prejudice  against  middle-aged  marriages 
or  not. 


[120] 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHEN  the  Princess  disappeared  Derrick  went 
to  the  post  office  and  telegraphed  to  his  broker 
in  London,  telling  him  to  sell  out  six  thousand 
pounds  worth  of  stock  at  once.  Whatever  the 
Princess  decided — and  he  had  no  idea  what  her 
decision  would  be — he  would  be  ready.  After 
sending  the  telegram  he  went  for  a  long  walk 
to  Villeneuve  and  beyond.  He  came  back 
glowing  with  health,  tingling  from  the  strong 
winter  air  and  pleasantly  tired.  It  was  dark, 
and  on  looking  at  his  watch  he  found  that  it 
was  just  six  o'clock.  He  longed  to  go  up  to 
the  Princess's  sitting-room  and  have  a  good  tea 
in  her  company.  But,  of  course,  she  had  had 
tea  long  ago.  Well,  he  would  see  her  at  dinner, 
and  must  manage  to  wait  until  then.  But  he 
was  beginning  to  realize  very  thoroughly  the 
delight  of  having  a  clever  and  sympathetic 
woman  in  his  life.  When  they  parted  he  would 
certainly  miss  her  very  much,  even  painfully, 
he  thought.  Suddenly  it  struck  him  that  if  she 
decided  to  sell  her  pearls  to  him  their  parting 
[121] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

would  be  hastened.  For  then,  no  doubt,  she 
would  leave  Montreux,  and  he  would  have  to 
go  to  Paris  or  London  to  get  rid  of  the  jewels. 

And  where  would  she  go?  He  wondered. 
Often  she  had  told  him  that  she  longed  to 
leave  Montreux,  but  she  had  never  said  where 
she  wanted  to  go  definitely.  Or — had  she? 
Yes,  to  be  sure,  she  had  spoken  of  Asia  as  if 
with  absolute  longing,  had  lamented  that  when 
she  was  rich  she  had  been  contented  with  the 
varnish  and  the  ignorance  of  Europe.  But 
even  six  thousand  pounds  wasn't  such  a  very 
large  sum.  Such  a  woman,  accustomed  to  lux- 
ury, couldn't  travel  for  ever  on  a  capital  which 
would  only  produce  some  three  hundred  a  year. 
And  if  she  recklessly  decided  to  treat  the  six 
thousand  as  income  she  would  be  facing  an 
impossible  future. 

The  fact  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  not 
to  marry  again  had  proved  to  him  that  she  was 
not  a  greedy  woman.  Otherwise,  with  her 
cleverness  and  decided  physical  attraction,  to 
say  nothing  of  her  rather  brusque,  but  very 
definite,  personal  charm,  she  could  easily 
shelter  herself  from  poverty  under  the  wing  of 
a  wealthy  husband,  under  his  wing,  for  in- 
[122] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


stance.  (Remembering  her  allusion  to  the 
eagle  he  could  not  help  smiling. ) 

He  entered  the  hotel,  meeting  its  warmth 
with  a  strong  sensation  of  cosy  pleasure.  Im- 
mediately the  hall  porter  came  towards  him. 

"If  monsieur  has  not  had  tea  yet,  Madame, 
the  Princess,  begs  him  to  go  up  and  have  it  in 
her  sitting-room." 

"Thank  you.  I'll  go  at  once,"  said  Derrick, 
with  unusual  heartiness. 

He  left  his  coat  and  hat  in  the  hall,  and  al- 
most bounded  up  the  stairs  like  a  young  man. 

"This  Swiss  air  is  wonderful!"  he  said  to 
himself.  "By  Jove!  I  am  hungry!" 

He  tapped  at  the  door  on  the  second  floor. 

"Entrez!"  said  a  firm  voice. 

He  opened  the  door.' 

A  strong  smell  of  flowers  greeted  him.  He 
saw  violets  in  vases  scattered  about  the  small 
room.  There  were  also  carnations  and  roses. 
Books  lay  about  almost  everywhere,  news- 
papers, magazines — he  saw  among  others  the 
Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  the  Hibbert  Journal 
and  the  Round  Table.  A  big  screen  concealed 
the  door  into  the  bedroom.  A  round  table  with 
tea  things  was  near  it,  and  a  large  sofa,  well 
[123] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

supplied  with  big  cushions,  on  which  the  Prin- 
cess was  lying  in  a  dark  blue  dress  smoking  a 
cigarette. 

"Ah,  it  is  you  at  last !  You  have  been  for  a 
long  walk.  I  can  see  the  air  from  the  snows, 
the  exercise,  in  your  eyes.  And  I  can  see  you 
are  hungry,  too.  So  you  have  not  had  tea, 
and  all  is  well." 

"But  you " 

"No,  I  have  waited — on  the  chance." 

She  pressed  the  bell,  and  an  elderly  woman 
came  in  from  the  bedroom  carrying  two  plates 
covered  with  the  cakes  and  pastries  for  which 
Montreux  is  famous. 

"Bring  us  the  tea  and  some  toast,  Margue- 
rite," said  the  Princess  in  French.  "All  the 
English  like  toast." 

"I  know — I  know!"  said  the  maid,  with  a 
friendly  smile  at  Derrick,  "and  to-day  we  have 
plenty  of  butter." 

"Mon  Dieu,  how  jolly!"  said  Derrick,  mix- 
ing French  and  English  in  his  enthusiasm. 

When  the  maid  had  gone  out  he  added: 

"You  are  spoiling  me  to-day,  but  I'm  bound 
to  say  I  like  it,  and  I  feel  as  if  it  were  doing  me 
moral  good." 

[124] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"I  think  it  is  happiness  which  does  us  moral 
good.  And  I  know  that  unhappiness,  worries, 
great  and  persistent  difficulties,  the  necessity 
for  perpetual  struggling,  do  us  moral  harm, 
whatever  the  dear  teachers — European — of  re- 
ligion may  say." 

"Are  you  going  to  allow  me  to  make  you 
happier?"  he  asked. 

He  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  in 
English  fashion,  and  looking  down  at  her  on 
her  sofa. 

"I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  when  Margue- 
rite has  ministered  to  us." 

In  two  or  three  minutes  Marguerite  came 
with  tea,  perfectly  made  toast  and  a  plate  cov- 
ered with  pats  of  delicious  pale  yellow  butter. 

"Now  all  is  well!"  said  the  Princess. 

And  she  sat  up,  arranged  the  cushions  at 
her  back,  and  began  to  pour  out  the  tea. 

"Help  yourself  to  everything,"  she  said,  as 
Marguerite  left  them  alone. 

"I  will  indeed,  without  ceremony,"  ex- 
claimed Derrick. 

"Oh,  and  here  is  jam!" 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  to  a  bureau,  and 
[125] 


brought  out  of  it  a  large  pot  of  strawberry 
jam. 

"That's  the  finishing  touch!"  said  Derrick. 
"Do  you  know  you  are  making  me  feel  very 
young?" 

"So  much  the  better!  When  I  make  people 
feel  old  I  shall  retire  entirely  from  all  worldly 
things." 

"And  now — I  am  waiting!" 

"Well,"  she  said,  and  her  face  changed,  "I 
gave  myself  to  the  Guides." 

"And  what  did  they  tell  you  ?  Or  didn't  they 
tell  you  anything?" 

She  was  silent  for  so  long  a  time  that  Derrick 
wondered.  Her  face  looked  stern  and  almost 
harsh  in  its  immobility,  and  her  black  eyes 
gazed  into  vacancy.  She  seemed  to  be  think- 
ing profoundly,  but  there  was  no  evidence  of 
any  mental  struggle,  or  even  of  any  mental  in- 
decision in  her  appearance.  On  the  contrary, 
she  looked  strong  and  dominating,  and  perfect- 
ly self-possessed.  At  last  she  spoke  without 
turning  her  eyes  towards  him. 

"The  Guides  told  me  I  had  better  accept 
your  offer,"  she  said. 

[126] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


And  there  was  a  sombre  and  fatalistic  sound 
in  her  voice,  he  thought. 

"There  is  something  I  have  to  do,  and  I  can- 
not do  it  here.  But  I  dislike  very  much  having 
this  transaction  with  y&w" 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  why.  Do  no?  ask  me.  Do 
not  even  wish  me  to  tell  you.  But  remember, 
whatever  happens,  that  I  had  a  real  regard  for 
you." 

"Had !"  he  said.    "Is  it  in  the  past  then?'* 

"Do  not  let  us  talk  about  it.  The  past,  the 
present,  the  future — perhaps  they  are  all  one, 
though  we  do  not  feel  it  so.  That  may  be  one 
of  the  mysteries." 

Derrick  felt  for  the  moment  chilled,  almost 
frightened,  as  if  a  strange  wave  of  cold  went 
over  and  through  him. 

"I  hope  our  friendship  will  never  be  a  thing 
of  the  past,"  he  said.  "It  has  meant,  if  means, 
a  great  deal  to  me." 

"You  are  a  good  fellow,"  said  the  Princess, 
"a  thorough  Englishman.  Even  your  defi- 
ciencies, if  I  may  call  them  so,  do  you  credit. 
When  I  think  of  the  cunning  and  meanness  of 
[127] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

others  I  admire  them  more  than  I  can  say.  I 
respect  them  even.  But " 

"But  what?    What  were  you  going  to  say?'x 

"Nothing — nothing.     Here  are  the  pearls." 

She  lifted  both  her  hands  and  carefully,  with 
her  delicate  precision,  she  took  the  strings  from 
her  neck.  The  lustrous  jewels  gleamed  almost 
like  satin  in  the  light  as  she  moved  them. 

"Take  them!"  she  said.  "I  must  let  them 
go  to  you,  though  I  wish  it  had  been  to  any- 
one else." 

And  she  gave  them  to  Derrick,  who  received 
them  carefully. 

"Wait  a  moment!"  she  added. 

She  got  up,  went  into  her  bedroom,  and 
came  back  with  a  dark  blue  case  in  her  hands. 

"Here  is  their  home!    Put  them  into  it." 

Derrick  put  the  pearls  into  their  bed  of  white 
velvet  and  shut  up  the  case. 

"I  shall  write  you  out  a  cheque  for  six  thou- 
sand pounds  to-night,"  he  said,  diffidently. 

A  slight  redness  showed  in  the  Princess's 
cheeks. 

"This  War  has  been  an  accursed  thing  for 
everybody,"  she  said.  "What  it  has  destroyed ! 
[128] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


What  it  has  destroyed!  But  now  let  us  talk 
of  other  things !" 

And  suddenly  she  changed,  seemed  to  force 
herself  back  to  the  woman  he  knew  and  fancied 
he  understood,  the  woman  of  courage,  distinc- 
tion and  fascination,  full  of  mental  vitality  and 
interesting  frankness. 

That  night  Derrick  wrote  out  a  cheque  for 
six  thousand  pounds  and  sent  it  up  to  her 
after  she  had  gone  to  her  rooms. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  received  a  note  contain- 
ing only  these  words: 

"My  friend,  I  thank  you. 

ANNA  ASANENSKY." 

He  read  it  twice.  Then  he  locked  it  away 
with  the  pearls. 


[129] 


THEEE  days  passed  and  Derrick  was  still  in 
Montreux  and  had  done  nothing  about  the 
pearls  which  were  locked  up  in  his  dressing- 
case.  He  did  not  choose  to  hand  them  over  to 
the  director  to  be  put  in  the  hotel  safe.  The 
director  might  recognize  the  case  as  having  be- 
longed to  the  Princess.  So  they  remained  in 
Derrick's  bedroom.  Between  the  Princess  and 
him  they  had  not  been  mentioned  again.  The 
Baroness  Hausen  had  said  not  a  word  about 
them,  though,  of  course,  she  must  know  what 
had  happened.  Her  manner  towards  Derrick 
had  not  changed,  had  not  softened,  though  no 
doubt  she  thought  that  he  had  yielded  to  her 
suggestion  out  of  compassion,  because  of  the 
unfortunate  situation  in  which  she  and  the 
Princess  were  placed.  Any  gratitude  seemed 
far  from  her.  In  fact,  sometimes  when  Der- 
rick met  her  cold  blue  eyes  he  found  himself 
wondering  whether  the  Princess  could  have 
kept  tie  matter  secret  even  from  Katya.  But 
[130] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


that  was  surely  impossible.  For  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  jewels — no  longer  worn  by  her 
friend — must  have  attracted  the  Baroness's  at- 
tention and  led  to  explanations. 

The  Princess  also  had  at  first  shown  no 
change  in  her  manner.  Always  cordial,  friend- 
ly, frank  and  outspoken,  she  had  continued  to 
be  so — until  the  third  day  came.  Then  Derrick 
thought  he  noticed  a  distinct  alteration  in  her 
demeanour.  She  seemed  to  him  to  be  unusual- 
ly restless,  but  to  be  trying  to  control  or  con- 
ceal it.  Once  or  twice,  when  her  eyes  met  his, 
he  thought  he  saw  in  them  a  fleeting  expression 
of  almost  hostile  inquiry.  And  there  were  mo- 
ments when  he  had  a  strong  and  mysterious 
sensation  that  her  mind  was  trying  to  work  in 
some  strange  way  upon  his,  was  trying  to  im- 
pose itself  upon  his  mind,  to  plead  with  him  or 
to  compel  him  to  do  something.  He  had  the 
feeling  that  the  Princess  was  endeavouring  to 
convey  something  to  him  which  she  did  not 
choose  to  express  in  words.  At  first  he  did  not 
know  what  it  was,  but  on  the  fourth  day  after 
the  pearls  had  come  into  his  possession  a  phy- 
sical restlessness,  drawn,  he  believed,  by  him 
from  the  Princess,  brought  him  enlightenment. 
[131] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

He  began  to  feel  like  a  traveller  who  has 
lingered  too  long  in  one  place,  and  who  ought 
to  go  on  his  way,  whether  he  really  wishes  to 
do  so  or  not.  And  he  felt  that  this  feeling  in 
him  and  the  Princess's  changed  demeanour 
were  caused  by  the  fact  that  she  wanted  him  to 
take  the  pearls  away  from  the  hotel,  perhaps 
even  from  Montreux,  that  she  was  irritated 
with  him  for  not  having  removed  them,  that 
she  was  trying  subtly  to  convey  this  irritation 
to  him,  and  thus  to  infect  him  with  her  own 
restlessness,  without  putting  it  into  words. 

He  grew  at  last  to  be  quite  certain  of  this. 
And  yet  he  did  not  leave  Montreux.  For 
something  obstinate  rose  up  and  asserted  itself 
in  him,  something  that  was  part  of  his  English 
manhood  and  that  declined  to  bend  to  a 
woman.  He  thought,  "Why  should  I  go  away 
until  I  choose  to  go  for  my  own  pleasure?  I 
have  made  the  Princess  safe  for  a  long  time. 
That  is  all  that  need  matter  to  her.  As  to  my 
profit  on  the  sale  of  the  pearls  I  can  take  that 
when  I  please,  or  not  take  it  at  all.  The  pearls 
are  mine,  and  if  I  decide  to  keep  them  that  is 
my  affair." 

He  did  not  mean  to  keep  them,  but  he  was 
[132] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


in  no  great  hurry  to  sell  them.  And  he  did  not 
want  to  leave  Montreux. 

But  as  the  days  went  by  he  was  increasing- 
ly conscious  of  the  Princess's  secret  restless- 
ness, and  of  the  steady  effort  which  her  mind 
was  making  to  convey  her  restlessness  to  him. 
When  they  were  talking  together  she  some- 
times dropped  the  conversation,  as  a  tired 
hostess  does  when  she  wants  to  get  rid  of  a 
visitor  who  has  stayed  too  long  in  her  drawing- 
room;  she  showed  an  increasing  weariness  of 
Montreux,  an  increasing  cynicism  in  her  out- 
look upon  its  society;  she  expressed  more  than 
once,  and  with  a  bitterness  which  reminded 
Derrick  of  the  Baroness  Hausen,  her  contempt 
for  European  ideals,  European  culture  and 
tendencies  of  thought.  He  felt  sure  that  her 
mind  was  turning  towards  Asia  with  more  defi- 
nite longing.  He  had  put  into  her  hands  the 
means  of  escape  from  the  cage;  of  course  she 
must  wish  to  use  them. 

But  Montreux  was  not  a  cage  to  him,  though 
he  knew  he  would  not  stay  in  it  another  day  if 
the  Princess  left  it. 

She  was  free  now ;  she  could  go  away  if  she 
chose.  The  fact  that  he  remained  in  Montreux 
[133] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

did  not  bind  her  to  stay  on  there  too.  But  he 
was  resolved  for  the  present  not  to  go  away. 
He  liked  his  life  at  the  Monney;  he  valued  his 
intercourse  with  the  Princess.  So  he  was  ob- 
stinate and  clung  to  his  happiness.  The  fact 
that  without  his  aid  the  Princess  would  have 
been  obliged  to  remain  on  indefinitely  in  Mon- 
treux  salved  his  conscience.  Already  he  had 
risked  deliberately  losing  his  present  happiness. 
He  was  surely  unselfish  enough.  He  need  not 
make  further  sacrifices  on  the  altar  of  friend- 
ship. 

But  his  obstinacy  in  remaining  was  met,  he 
believed,  by  an  increasing,  though  unexpressed, 
determination  on  her  part  that  he  should  go. 
He  felt  it  underlying  all  their  intercourse,  and 
and  it  angered  him  and  distressed  him.  He 
never  alluded  to  it.  If  he  did  so  he  felt  that 
some  change  would  have  to  be  made.  But  he 
began  to  feel  that  there  was  a  mysterious  war- 
fare between  them  which  nevertheless  had  not 
broken  their  friendship.  He  believed  that  the 
Princess  had  a  real  regard  for  him,  and  that 
she  esteemed  him  highly.  He  preferred  her 
to  all  other  women.  And,  nevertheless,  they 
were  at  war,  because  he  was  defying  her  will, 
[134] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


and  she  did  not  cease  to  exercise  it  in  conse- 
quence of  his  defiance.  He  began  to  wish  very 
much  that  she  would  be  quite  frank  with  him, 
would  tell  him  exactly  what  she  wanted  him  to 
do,  would  give  him  the  reasons  that  prompted 
her  desire.  A  man  would  probably  have  done 
that.  But  women,  he  supposed,  being  more 
mysterious  than  men,  must  act  more  subtly 
than  men  do.  Possibly  in  their  subtleties  lay 
their  attraction  for  men,  and  possibly  they 
realized  that,  and  therefore  gave  the  rein  to  a 
natural  impulse,  knowing  that  wisdom  guided 
them.  But,  he  thought,  it  was  sometimes 
damned  hard  on  the  men.  In  fact,  it  was 
damned  hard  on  him  now.  He  was  beginning 
to  suffer  in  this  warfare  which  was  not  made 
natural  by  any  strong,  vigorous  blows,  but 
which  was  a  complex  matter  of  ambushes  and 
traps  and  scouting  expeditions  in  the  dark. 
Their  intercourse  seemed  to  him  daily  more 
difficult.  Oamaraderie  was  gradually  wearing 
thin  between  them.  There  was  no  more  ease 
and  spontaneity  in  their  conversations.  At 
times  he  even  felt  that  the  Princess  was  grow- 
ing hostile  to  him,  though  she  never  hinted  at 
it  in  words. 

[135] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

He  read  hostility,  he  believed,  occasionally 
in  her  long,  expressive  eyes  turned  on  him  in  a 
swift,  surreptitious  glance,  in  a  rigidity  of  her 
lips  when  they  ceased  from  speaking,  in  the 
long,  cold  silence  which  followed  and  which  he 
knew  not  how  to  break. 

At  last,  unable  to  endure  any  longer  the 
strange  and  almost  spectral  frost  in  which  their 
friendship,  once  so  warm  and  lively,  was  be- 
coming enveloped,  Derrick  resolved  to  ask  the 
Princess  what  was  the  matter,  whether  he  had 
offended  her  in  any  way,  whether  she  wished 
him  to  do  something  which  he  had  not  done,  or 
to  refrain  from  doing  something  which  he  had 
persisted  in  doing.  If  woman  was  mysterious 
it  was  surely  the  prerogative  of  man  to  be  bold 
and  uncompromising.  He  had  not  been  that, 
but  had  lost  himself  in  delicacies,  and  now 
found  himself  struggling  in  the  midst  of  under- 
things  which  he  could  neither  grasp  with 
destructive  hands  nor  even  understand.  It  was 
time  to  put  an  end  to  a  situation  which  he  could 
no  longer  bear  his  part  in  with  self-possession. 
Convinced  of  this,  he  acted  with  a  promptitude 
and  energy  which  surprised  himself.  He  asked 
the  Princess  to  allow  him  to  come  up  to  her 
[130] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


sitting-room  one  night  after  dinner,  and 
directly  the  door  was  shut  behind  him,  he  said: 
"You  know  why  I  wished  to  see  you  alone  this 
evening." 

"I  don't  think  I  do,"  she  said,  with  less  than 
her  usual  complete  naturalness  and  self-pos- 
session. 

She  was  standing  near  the  fireplace.  He 
came  up  to  her  and  stood  by  her  side. 

"You  are  changing  towards  me.  I  want  to 
know  why.  Have  I  done  anything  you  dis- 
like?" 

With  a  sort  of  deep  and  sad  irony  she  an- 
swered : 

"You  have  done  a  very  dangerous,  what  you 
English  call  a  very  risky,  thing.  You  have 
benefited  me." 

"Do  you  mean  that  my  buying  your  pearls 
has  made  you  dislike  me?"  said  Derrick,  with 
a  cold  feeling  at  his  heart. 

"Oh,  no,  my  friend.  I  am  not  fallen  so  low 
as  to  be  capable  of  quite  such  baseness.  But — 
but — well,  you  may  not  understand — women's 
feelings  are  often  so  incomprehensible  to  men — 
but  I  hate  now  being  in  the  same  house  with  the 
pearls.  Can  you  comprehend  that?  Why  do 
[137] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

you  keep  them?  They  are  of  no  use  to  you. 
It  was  understood  between  us  that  you  were  to 
take  them  to  London  and  sell  them " 

"To  London!    But  we  never " 

"I  wish  you  to  sell  them  in  London." 

"But  why?" 

"I  have  information  that  they  are  paying 
much  higher  prices  for  jewels  there  than  in 
Paris  at  the  present  time." 

"You  want  me  to  go  to  London  at  once  and 
get  rid  of  the  pearls?" 

"They  are  a  gene  between  you  and  me  here 
in  this  house.  I  have  six  thousand  pounds,  a 
little  fortune  for  me,  which  makes  me  feel — oh, 
so  rich!  And  you — you  have  some  strings  of 
things  useless  and  ridiculous  to  you,  things 
which  you  despise,  as  all  true  men  despise 
jewels  and  wonder  at  women's  passion  for 
them.  The  inequality  between  us  is  too  great 
and  makes  me  feel  no  longer  at  ease  with  you. 
I  have  the  shame  of  the  benefited.  It  is  poor  of 
me,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  Comrades  must 
stand  upon  an  equal  footing.  You  and  I  no 
longer  do  this.  I  am  on  a  lower  step  than  you, 
and  as  I  am  not  fond,  I  confess  it,  of  looking 
up,  I  am  in  a  false  position.  The  pearls  cry 
[188] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


out  to  me  from  your  room,  'You  beggar  on 
horseback!' ' 

"But,  my  dear  friend " 

"They  do,  they  do!  I  hear  them  day  and 
night.  I  cannot  rest  for  their  voices.  That 
is  the  truth." 

He  had  never  before  seen  her  show  so  much 
emotion,  so  much  excitement.  There  was  some- 
thing akin  to  anger  in  her  manner  and  voice, 
and  for  the  first  time  he  felt  strongly  the  Rus- 
sian in  her,  realized  that  beneath  her  good 
breeding,  her  distinction  and  savoir  fairef  there 
was  something  quite  different,  something  al- 
most barbaric,  that  he  knew  very  little,  perhaps 
nothing,  about. 

"Do  you  understand  me?"  she  asked.  "Can 
you  enter  into  my  feelings?" 

"I  think  so — yes.  But — if  you  feel  like  that 
I  almost  wonder  that " 

He  hesitated. 

"What — what  is  it  that  you  wonder?" 

"Well,  you  are  free  now.  You  can  go 
wherever  you  like.  You  told  me  you  were  sick 
of  Montreux.  Yet  you  stay  on  here  when  you 
could  go  away — away  both  from  Montreux 
and  the  pearls." 

[139] 


"You  wish  me  to  go,  and  you  are  to  stay!" 

"I  don't  wish  you  to  go,"  he  exclaimed. 
"You  know  that.  If  you  went  I  shouldn't  re- 
main on  here  for  a  day.  No,  but  I  wonder,  if 
you  feel  as  you  say  you  do,  why  you  stay  on." 

"And  why  do  you  stay?" 

"You  know  quite  well  why." 

She  moved  away  from  him  and  sat  down. 

"But  London  is  not  very  far!"  she  said. 

"You  mean,  I  might  easily  go  to  London 
and  come  back?" 

She  said  nothing,  only  sat  still  looking  up  at 
him. 

"Suppose  I  did  go  to  London  and  did  come 
back?" 

"Yes?" 

"Should  I  still  find  you  here  on  my  return?" 

As  he  spoke  he  noticed  that  her  strong  face 
twitched  slightly. 

"Why  should  I — what  makes  you 
think ?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  don't  say  I  think  you  would  be  gone." 

"Then " 

"I  scarcely  know  what  I  think." 

"Why  should  you  suppose  I  would  run  away 
from  you?" 

[140] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"I  don't  say  that.  Indeed,  I  can't  imagine 
you  running  away  from  anything  or  anyone. 
It  is  only  the  weak  who  do  such  a  thing  as 
that.  And  you  are  not  a  weak  character." 

"Who  knows?" 

"I  know." 

"You  can  sum  up  a  woman,  and  a  woman 
who  is  not  of  your  nation?" 

"I  know  you  are  not  weak,"  he  said,  with  ob- 
stinacy. 

"I  am  what  the  War  has  made  me.  That  is 
what  I  am!"  she  said,  with  an  extraordinary 
bitterness.  "You  do  not  know  what  I  was, 
and  you  never  will  know." 

"And  do  I  not  know  what  you  are?" 

"No— not  yet." 

Suddenly  Derrick  thought  of  the  Baroness 
Hausen.  He  did  not  know  why.  But  he  felt 
as  if  he  saw  her  before  him  in  the  room,  fair, 
good-looking,  implacable,  devoid,  apparently, 
of  all  soft  human  feeling,  incapable  of  belief  in 
anything  righteous,  carrying  her  burden  of 
nameless  experience,  desirous  of  terrible  re- 
venges upon  the  human  brood. 

"When  you  go  away  from  here  is  the  Baron- 
ess going  with  you?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 
[141] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

The  Princess  looked  almost  startled,  and 
again  her  face  twitched. 

"Why  should  you  ask  that?" 

"I'm  going  to  be  infernally  rude.  You  must 
try  to  forgive  me.  But  I — I  detest  the  Baron- 
ess." 

"Katya!    What  has  she  done  to  you?" 

"Nothing,  but  I  detest  her,  and  hate  to  think 
of  you  with  her.  Will  she  go  with  you  when 
you  go?" 

"I  don't  know  what  is  going  to  become  of 
Katya." 

"Do  you  care  for  her?" 

"I  pity  her." 

"Do  you  care  for  her?" 

"It  is  sometimes  very  difficult  to  know  just 
what  one  feels." 

"Yes;  that's  true!"  he  said,  gazing  at  her. 

He  was  remembering  just  then  how  he  had 
debated  within  himself  about  the  Princess,  he 
was  remembering  that  day  on  the  path  by  the 
lake,  when  she  had  left  him  wondering  whether 
she  had  stricken  him  by  her  clever  evasion,  or 
whether  at  the  core  he  was  still  sound. 

"But  it's  only  with  some,  very  few,  people 
one  feels  like  that,"  he  added.  "And  I  sup- 
[142] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


pose  it  always  means  that  a  part  of  them,  per- 
haps a  great  part,  is  hidden  from  you.  You 
don't  know  of  what  nature  that  part  is,  whether 
you  could  be  in  sympathy  with  it  or  not  if  you 
knew  it." 

"You  are  stating  what  you  are  thinking 
about  me." 

Derrick  reddened  under  her  steady  gaze. 

"I  know  this,  anyhow,"  he  said,  "that  the 
reason  why  I  have  not  gone  away  to  get  rid 
of  the  pearls  is  because  I  can't  bring  myself  to 
separate  from  you.  All  these  days  I  have  felt 
that  something  in  you  was  trying  to  push  me 
away.  But  I  was  resolved  not  to  go.  If  you 
choose  to  go  I  can  do  nothing.  But  I  don't 
intend  to  leave  you  while  you  stay  here." 

"There  can  be  no  happiness,  no  ease,  in  our 
friendship,  while  you  still  have  the  pearls,"  she 
said.  "Get  rid  of  them  as  soon  as  possible,  but 
not  here.  I  know  how  it  is  in  Switzerland. 
Take  them  to  London." 

"Paris  is  nearer." 

"I  have  told  you  my  reason  for  wishing  it  to 

be  London.    I  can  say  no  more.    If  you  do 

not  choose  to  make  the  matter  as  decent  for 

me  as  it  can  be  made,  if  you  do  not  choose  to 

[143] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

make  the  best  of  your  bargain  for  yourself, 
and  so  to  pour  a  little  balm  on  my  conscience, 
I  cannot  make  you  do  it.  You  are  a  free  man, 
and  I  quite  realize  a  man  with  a  will  of  your 
own.  But,  at  any  rate,  if  you  really  have  any 
regard  for  me,  get  rid  of  the  pearls.  Till  you 
do  I  sit  here  in  your  debt  for  six  thousand 
pounds." 

"Princess,  I  will  go  away  and  get  rid  of  the 
pearls,  if  you  won't  make  it  unnecessary." 

"How?    How  could  I  make  it " 

"Marry  me  and  take  them  back  as  my  pres- 
ent to  you." 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them.  It 
must  surely  be  caused  by  some  strong  hesita- 
tion in  her,  and,  therefore,  it  made  Derrick 
hope.  He  knew  now  that  he  wished  intensely 
to  make  this  strange  woman  his ;  to  pluck  the 
heart  out  of  her  mystery,  to  conquer  the  ob- 
stinacies, the  resistances,  which  he  divined  in 
her  nature,  to  give  her  the  peace  of  ordered 
and  stable  circumstances,  to  travel  with  her  to 
the  lands  she  desired.  That  there  was  a  risk 
in  what  he  wanted  to  do  he  realized,  but  now 
he  was  ready  to  take  it.  The  only  thing  he  felt 
he  could  not  risk  was  going  away  in  uncer- 
[144] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


tainty  as  to  whether  he  would  ever  see  her 
again. 

"Will  you  do  that?"  he  said  at  last,  as  she 
did  not  speak. 

She  sighed  heavily  before  she  spoke.  Then 
she  answered: 

"I  wish  I  could  do  it,  I  wish  I  could." 

"Then  do  it !    You  are  free." 

"If  only  you  had  never  asked  me!  I  never 
meant  to  allow  you  to  ask  me.  But  now  it  is 
done  and  can  never  be  undone.  All  this  comes 
too  late.'* 

"What  do  you  mean?  Surely  it  is  never  too 
late  for  a  little  happiness?" 

"You  and  I  would  not  be  happy  together  in 
that  way.  I  know  it.  But  now  I " 

Suddenly  she  got  up  with  an  air  of  strong 
resolution,  went  to  a  writing  table,  unlocked  a 
drawer  in  it,  and  lifted  out  a  small  despatch 
box.  Then  she  drew  a  little  gold  chain  to  which 
a  key  was  attached  from  inside  her  dress, 
quickly  opened  the  box  and  took  out  an  en- 
velope. 

"Here  is  your  cheque  to  me.  Take  it  back. 
I  do  not  wish  to  cash  it." 

"Princess!" 

[145] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"No — no!  Now  you  have  asked  me  and  I 
have  refused,  I  cannot  take  it  from  you." 

"I  shall  not  take  it  back." 

"Really  you  must." 

"I  shall  not.  If  I  can't  be  your  husband,  at 
least  I  can,  and  will,  remain  your  friend.  To- 
morrow I  shall  go  away  and  take  the  pearls 
with  me.  I  will  go  to  London.  I  will  get  the 
biggest  price  possible,  make  my  profit  as  large 
as  I  can  for  your  sake.  If  I  come  back  to  you 
richer  than  I  was  before  I  wrote  that  cheque 
by  some  thousands  of  pounds  I  shall  have  been 
benefited  by  you.  I  shan't  be  like  you.  I  shan't 
mind  that.  To  be  in  your  debt  will  be  happi- 
ness for  me.  I  shall  enjoy  being  on  the  lower 
step.  And  then,  perhaps,  I  shall  dare  to  ask 
you  again.  Ntow,  good  night  1" 

He  turned  quickly  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

On  the  following  day  he  started  for  London 
without  obtaining  from  the  Princess  any  abso- 
lute promise  that  she  would  remain  on  at  Mon- 
treux  till  his  return.  But  in  their  last  interview 
he  told  her  that  he  would  soon  come  back,  and 
thai;  he  expected  to  find  her  still  there. 

"You  have  not  done  with  me  yet!"  he  said. 

"How  do  you  know  that  ?" 
[146] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"I  can't  tell  you  now.    But  I  do  know  it." 

"I  shall  not  dare  to  contradict  you,"  she  said, 
with  a  faint  smile. 

At  parting  she  gave  him  a  long  pressure  of 
the  hand,  and  followed  him  with  her  eyes  as  he 
went  out  of  the  room. 

He  did  not  see  the  Baroness  Hausen  to  say 
good-bye. 


[147] 


CHAPTER  IX 

DERRICK  arrived  safely  in  Paris  with  the 
pearls,  and  put  up  at  the  Hotel  Crillon.  On 
his  arrival  he  telegraphed  to  the  Princess  as 
follows :  "Am  in  Paris,  may  go  to  London  to- 
morrow night.  Best  salutations.  Au  revoir. 
Derrick  Merton."  Then  he  locked  up  the 
pearls  in  a  despatch  box  and  consigned  the  box 
to  the  safe  of  the  hotel.  This  done,  he  had  a 
bath,  rested  for  a  while,  then  got  into  evening 
dress,  and  went  out  to  dine  at  the  Ritz. 

It  chanced  that  at  the  Ritz  he  came  across  a 
man  whom  he  knew  very  well,  a  fellow-member 
of  one  of  his  clubs,  the  Travellers',  and  a  re- 
markably shrewd  man  of  the  world.  This 
friend,  whose  name  was  George  Cockayne,  was 
staying  at  the  hotel  and  dining  alone.  He  sug- 
gested that  Derrick  should  join  him  and  that 
they  should  go  to  a  theatre  after  dinner,  and 
Derrick  was  very  glad  to  agree.  For  he  felt 
that  he  wanted  company  that  night  to  distract 
his  mind,  which  was  inclined  to  fix  itself  with 
[148] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


obstinate  persistence  upon  the  recent  events  at 
Montreux. 

"Where  do  you  come  from,  Merton?"  said 
Cockayne,  as  they  sat  down  among  a  crowd  of 
Londoners  and  Americans. 

Derrick  told  him. 

"They  tell  me  Switzerland's  the  most  com- 
fortable country  in  Europe  to  be  in  at  the  pres- 
ent time,"  said  Cockayne.  "First-rate  food, 
moderate  prices  and  very  amusing  company  for 
those  who  aren't  too  particular." 

Derrick  confirmed  the  report  as  to  the  com- 
fort, the  food  and  the  prices. 

"And  what  about  the  company?  They  say 
all  the  cleverest  rascals  in  Europe  are  living 
there  like  fighting  cocks.  Did  you  stay  in  Ge- 
neva, Lucerne  or  Zurich?" 

"No,  I've  only  been  in  Montreux." 

"What  sort  of  people  did  you  meet  there? 
Russians?  Egyptians?  Greeks?  Laventine 
adventurers?  The  hotels  are  full  of  them,  I'm 
told." 

Derrick  gave  him  a  brief  sketch  of  conditions 
at  Montreux,  so  far  as  he  had  been  able  to 
study  them. 

"And  what  about  the  women?"  continued 
[149] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

Cockayne,  who  was  reputed  to  have  a  remark- 
ably varied  and  extensive  knowledge  of  the 
feminine  sex.  "A  regular  jewel  market,  isn't 
it?" 

"What  d<?  you  mean  exactly  by  a  jewel 
market?" 

"Well,  that  there  are  any  amount  of  women 
over  there  whose  jewels  are  displayed  for  sale 
on  the  sly.  Fellows  are  perpetually  slipping 
over  from  here  to  Switzerland  and  coming  back 
with  as  many  pearls  and  diamonds  on  them  as 
the  Shah  of  Persia,  but  well  hidden,  of  course. 
The  jewellers  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  are  giv- 
ing damned  good  prices  for  jewels  from  Switz- 
erland. Madame  de  Reval  told  me  only  yes- 
terday  " 

And  he  related  a  story  of  a  woman,  a  lover, 
a  deceived  husband,  jewels  and  a  sale,  very 
Parisian,  and  very  much  du  jour  in  its  after- 
the-War  actuality.  , 

"Women's  expedients  for  getting  hold  of 
money  are  cleverer,  more  tricky,  more  damned 
ingenius  than  ever  in  these  difficult  days,"  said 
Cockayne.  "Since  the  War  the  terrific  rise  in 
prices  has  obliged  the  adventuress  to  sharpen 
her  wits,  and  find  new  ways  of  meeting  the  ex- 
[150] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


penses  necessitated  by  the  art  she  lives  for — 
the  art  of  life.  I  can  tell  you  one  or  two 
things " 

And  he  told  them  with  the  sly  and  cynical 
relish  which  was  characteristic  of  him.  For, 
though  a  very  good-natured  man,  he  was  fond 
of  pretending  to  an  absolute  disbelief  in  the 
inherent  virtues  claimed  by  some  optimists  for 
human  nature,  and  he  was  extremely  fond  of 
good  gossip,  as  almost  all  persistent  frequent- 
ers of  clubs  are. 

"Delicious!  Wasn't  it?"  he  exclaimed,  at 
the  finish  of  an  excellent  story  of  successful 
deceit.  "But  poor — well,  I  suppose  I  mustn't 
mention  his  name — has  his  eyes  open  now. 
He's  got  rid  of  his  dreams  of  innocent  women. 
It's  wonderful,  though,  how  guileless  some  men 
are  who  live  up  to  their  necks  in  the  world  man- 
age to  be.  Take  Kit  Vernon,  for  instance! 
You  know  him,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  slightly." 

"Well " 

And  there  followed  another  excellent  story 
of  a  man  hoodwinked  and  then  browbeaten  by 
a  woman. 

By  this  time  Cockayne  was  ordering  a  second 
[151] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

bottle  of  1906  champagne,  and  was  just  getting 
into  his  stride.  He  had  the  art  of  being  con- 
vivial without  ever  becoming  objectionable,  and 
had  one  of  the  toughest  heads  in  London  for 
the  carrying  of  wine.  He  had  been  for  over  a 
fortnight  in  Paris,  and  was  able  to  give  Der- 
rick a  great  deal  of  the  inner  social  history  of 
the  last  two  or  three  months. 

"But  what  about  Switzerland  ?"  he  presently 
inquired  again.  "Isn't  Montreux  a  small  cos- 
mospolis?  Sometimes  it's  far  more  amusing  to 
look  at  the  animalculse  in  a  drop  of  water  than 
in  a  glass  of  water.  One  sees  what  they're  up 
to  more  clearly.  One  isn't  confused  by  too 
great  numbers.  Whom  did  you  run  across  in 
Montreux?" 

Derrick  gave  Cockayne  a  sketch  of  the  Bar- 
oness Hausen,  without  mentioning  her  name. 
Cockayne  listened  with  interest. 

"I  wonder  what  exactly  she  went  through  in 
Russia?"  he  observed.  "It  would  be  interest- 
ing to  know  that.  One  can  guess,  of  course. 
And  so  she  is  one  of  the  many  whom  the  War 
has  changed  into  something  less,  or  more,  than 
what  I  call  average  human!" 
[152] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"More!  Well,  I  couldn't  agree  with  that," 
said  Derrick. 

"Well,  as  you  describe  her  there's  something 
big  and  strong  about  her,  something  absolutely 
ruthless.  That  means  character,  will.  You 
can  have  bowels  of  mercy  without  having  an 
ounce  of  will." 

"I  frankly  detested  that  young  woman," 
said  Derrick. 

"But,  then,  you're  rather  on  the  pounce  for 
sympathy,  aren't  you — I  mean  from  women?" 

"Possibly.  At  any  rate,  I  hate  hard 
women." 

"The  War  has  made  thousands  of  women 
as  hard  as  nails.  Your  baroness  was  evidently 
one  of  the  most  finished  specimens  of  the  after- 
the-War  female.  Was  she  there  alone?" 

"No,  with — with  another  Russian,  a  friend." 

"Same  type?" 

"Good  heavens — no!" 

"Well,  I  haven't  the  honour " 

"No,  of  course  not !" 

Derrick  had  not  intended  to  speak  to  Cock- 
ayne about  the  Princess  Aranensky,  but  now 
he  changed  his  mind.  He  was  not  going  to  tell 
Cockayne  her  name,  but  it  would  be  interesting 
[153] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

to  put  the  Princess  before  Cockayne,  with  her 
lights  and  her  shadows,  her  frankness  and  her 
reticence,  to  sketch  her  in  outline  to  him,  and 
to  hear  what  he  would  say  of  her.  Whatever 
he  said  it  would  certainly  not  be  foolish,  and 
perhaps,  by  chance,  it  might  throw  a  light  into 
one  or  two  places  which  still  remained  dark 
before  Derrick's  scrutiny.  He  gave  himself 
to  the  task  with  an  interest  which  grew  as  he 
developed  his  theme.  By  talking  of  the  Prin- 
cess thus  to  a  man  who  had  never  seen  her  he 
seemed  to  make  closer  acquaintance  with  her. 
It  was  almost  as  if  he  read  an  analysis  of  some- 
one whom  till  then  he  had  known  imperfectly. 
But  he  was  himself  the  analyst. 

Cockayne  listened  attentively. 

"Sounds  a  curious  and  very  interesting 
woman,"  he  said,  when  presently  Derrick  was 
silent.  "A  Russian  you  said.  Was  she  from 
the  Baltic  Provinces  too?" 

"Oh,  no." 

"A  Muscovite,  perhaps?" 

"She  never  told  me  what  part  of  Russia  she 
was  born  in.  But  she  formerly  had  large  es- 
tates in  Central  Russia  I  believe." 

"I  should  guess  her  to  be  a  Muscovite  from 
[154] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


what  you  have  told  me,  probably  brought  up 
and  trained  to  the  world  abroad." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  trained  to  the 
world?" 

"Well,  you  have  given  me  the  impression 
that  she  was  a  past  mistress  of  the  art  of  the 
worldly  life,  just  as  in  talking  of  the  other 
woman,  her  friend,  you  gave  me  the  strong  im- 
pression of  a  character  tainted  by  German 
blood." 

"I  felt  that  too.  But  in  regard  to  the — 
well,  let  us  call  her  the  Muscovite,  she  always 
struck  me  as  marvellously  frank  and  open." 

"My  experience  is  that  those  apparently 
frank  and  open  women  are  much  the  most 
dangerous." 

"I  could  never  think  of  her  as  a  dangerous 
woman, V  said  Derrick  rather  stiffly. 

"Has  she  been  hit  by  the  War,  do  you 
know?" 

"I'm  afraid  she  has." 

"A  great  many  of  these  women  in  Switzer- 
land are  living  on  the  proceeds  of  sales.  I 
have  heard  a  lot  about  them.  They  sell  things 
piecemeal  to  people  who  go  over  from  Paris 
[155] 


and  elsewhere.  There  are  plenty  of  funny 
stories  of  those  sales  going  about  Paris." 

"Paris  is  always  full  of  potins." 

"And  never  fuller  than  now.  You  see  peo- 
ple are  buying  now  who  are  not  professional 
buyers  but  very  often  gentlemen  on  the  make. 
They  hear  of  these  needy  souls  with  no  money 
but  very  often  with  valuable  possessions,  and 
they  think  it  a  good  opportunity  to  try  and 
make  a  bit  for  themselves.  Sometimes  they  do 
make  a  bit ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  sometimes 
they  get  very  badly  burnt  from  not  knowing 
the  business.  As  a  rule,  it's  a  great  mistake  to 
launch  out  in  anything  you  haven't  been  prop- 
erly trained  to.  Now,  for  instance,  there  was 
young  Pierre  de  Montanvert " 

Another  excellent  story  followed  which 
lasted  till  dinner  was  over. 

"Xow  where  shall  we  go?"  said  Cockayne. 

"Anywhere  you  like,"  said  Derrick. 

Taking  the  line  of  least  resistance,  they  de- 
cided on  the  Folies  Bergere. 

That  light-hearted  place  was  crammed,  but 

they  got  two  seats  near  the  stage  and  smoked 

their  cigars  in  comfort.    Between  the  parts  they 

walked  about  in  the  promenade  and  the  foyer, 

[156] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


and  watched  all  the  latest  absurdities.  Derrick 
tried  to  be  amused,  but  there  was  a  latent  heav- 
iness at  his  heart.  After  the  smallness,  the  in- 
timacy, and  not  lonely  peace  of  Montreux, 
Paris  seemed  almost  intolerably  crowded  and 
noisy.  He  looked  at  the  panorama  of  passing 
or  lingering  women,  he  listened  to  Cockayne's 
shrewd  and  cynical  comments  upon  them,  he 
felt  the  heat  of  pressed  together  humanity,  he 
stared  into  the  blaze  of  the  lights,  but  he 
thought  of  the  changing  lights  on  the  moun- 
tains round  Montreux,  of  the  white  silence  of 
the  snows,  of  the  cold  pure  breath  of  the  world 
about  Leysin,  of  the  sound  of  a  pointed  stick 
striking  on  ice,  and,  with  a  sort  of  fear,  he  said 
to  himself,  "Am  I  really  in  love  at  my  age?" 
Cockayne's  keen  comments  began  to  depress 
him,  almost  to  irritate  him,  for  he  felt  himself 
at  that  moment  to  be  a  sentimentalist  and, 
therefore,  inevitably  out  of  touch  with  a  man 
who  prided  himself  on  being  guided  by  what 
he  called  common  sense.  He  remembered 
Cockayne's  remark  about  the  amazing  guile- 
lessness  of  some  men  who,  nevertheless,  had 
lived  long  in  the  world.  Somehow,  when  it  had 
been  spoken,  that  remark  had  seemed  to  hit 
[157] 


him.  Yet  it  had  certainly  not  been  intended  as 
an  allusion  to  him.  No  doubt  to  a  man  of 
Cockayne's  type  anyone  who  believed  thor- 
oughly in  a  woman — so  called  of  the  world — 
seemed  a  guileless  man,  and  probably  an  ob- 
ject of  ridicule.  It  must  surely  make  life  like 
a  very  cold  room  to  have  such  a  keen  insight 
into  the  insincerities  of  one's  kind.  And  yet 
anything  was  better  than  to  be  a  fool.  For- 
tunately, there  was  a  via  media,  not  to  mistake 
trickery  for  sincerity,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
not  to  imagine  trickery  and  deceit  where  they 
were  not  present  in  a  nature. 

"I  wonder  what  Cockayne  really  thought  of 
the  Princess  as  I  sketched  her  out  for  him," 
thought  Derrick,  as  they  went  back  to  their 
seats. 

He  resolved  to  ask  him  at  the  end  of  the  per- 
formance. 

They  walked  away  from  the  theatre. 

"Come  into  the  Ritz  and  smoke  a  last  cigar," 
said  Cockayne. 

Derrick  assented. 

When  they  were  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  ho- 
tel, Cockayne  said: 

"By  the  way,  where  are  you  bound  for  now?" 
[158] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


Derrick  hesitated  before  answering. 

"My  plans  are  rather  vague,"  he  said  at  last. 
"I  shall  stay  a  night  or  two  in  Paris.  Possibly 
I  may  have  to  run  over  to  London,  possibly 
not.  I  expect  to  decide  that  to-morrow.  In 
any  case  I  don't  intend  to  stay  in  London,  if  I 
go  there,  for  more  than  two  or  three  days." 

"I  shouldn't  go  there  at  all  if  you  can  help  it. 
The  weather  is  simply  infernal,  and  the  jour- 
ney— but  you  know  all  about  that;  trains 
packed  and  late  in  arriving,  the  boat  a  seething 
mass  of  seasick  humanity.  I'm  going  on  to 
Cap  Martin.  Why  not  come  with  me,  if  you 
haven't  made  any  special  plans?" 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you.  I  must  think 
things  over.  I've  got  to  go  back  to  Switzer- 
land presently." 

"To  have  another  look  at  the  stony  young 
woman  from  the  Baltic  Provinces?" 

Derrick  shook  his  head  with  a  smile. 

"What  did  you  really  make  of  the  other 
woman  whom  I  told  you  about?"  he  asked. 

"It  struck  me  that  she  was  far  the  subtler 

of  the  two.     But  it's  very  difficult  to  judge 

anyone,  especially  a  woman,  by  a  description 

given  of  her,  however  good  it  is.    In  a  woman 

[159] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

a  look — that  she  doesn't  think  you  will  see — • 
often  gives  her  away  more  than  half  a  dozen 
actions  or  half  a  hundred  words.  What  you 
told  me  about  her  opinion  of  Europe  and  her 
desire  for  Asia  interested  me.  The  key  to  a 
good  deal  in  her  character  may  be  found  in 
that,  I  should  say.  She  may,  perhaps,  have 
some  drops  of  Asiatic  blood  in  her  veins,  which 
would  make  her  more  at  home  in  Asia,  if  she 
ever  goes  there,  than  she  is  in  Europe.  But 
taking  your  description  for  what  it's  worth,  I 
should  say  that  she  is  the  type  of  woman  whom 
no  pure-bred  Englishman  could  ever  under- 
stand. I  should  say,  too,  that  she  is  infernally 
attractive." 

"She  is!"  said  Derrick,  simply.  "I've  never 
been  with  a  woman  who  was  such  a  good  com- 
panion." 

"You  didn't  give  me  any  definite  impression 
of  what  the  Americans  would  call  her  physical 
'make-up.'  And  that  has  a  tremendous  amount 
to  do  with  what  a  woman  really  is." 

"I  honestly  don't  know  anything  about  that 
side  of  her.  But,  remember,  she's  well  over 
forty." 

"Some  of  the  women  in  London,  and  here  in 
[160] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


Paris,  are  well  over  sixty,  and  yet  are  by  no 
means  extinct  volcanoes,"  rejoined  Cockayne, 
with  his  sly  smile.  "The  women  of  our  time 
last  in  the  most  extraordinary  way.  They  stay 
the  course  long  after  they  have  passed  the  win- 
ning post.  It  is  almost  stupefying." 

"I  don't  think  she  is  at  all  that  type,"  said 
Derrick. 

"My  dear  chap,  I'm  not  attacking  her!  You 
asked  for  my  opinion,  and  I've  been  giving  it 
to  you,  and  trying  to  sound  you  for  a  little  more 
to  go  upon.  That's  all." 

"Of  course,  I  know  that." 

"Why  not  ask  both  your  friends  to  Cap 
Martin?  Then  I  could  study  them  at  first 
hand." 

"I  wonder  if  they  would  come,"  said  Der- 
rick. "She  says  she  is  sick  of  varnish.  And 
the  Riviera  is  varnished  till  it  glistens." 

"Perhaps  the  wilds  of  Asia  are  more  in  her 
line." 

"Who  knows?  Besides,  there's  the  money 
question.  She  ought  to  be  careful,  I  expect." 

"It's  very  difficult  to  get  a  Russian  of  that 
type  to  be  careful  with  money.  They  are  gam- 
[161] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

biers  and  spendthrifts  by  nature.  They  are 
as  incapable  of  living  without  luxury  as  a  fish 
is  incapable  of  living  out  of  water.  And  they 
are  usually  fatalists,  which  doesn't  help  mat- 
ters. Has  the  lady  any  jewels?" 

Derrick  was  startled  by  the  question. 

"Why — what  makes  you  ask  that?" 

"Merely  because  perhaps  a  judicious  sale 
might  help  her  to  join  us  at  Cap  Martin.  De- 
binot  is  the  best  man  in  Paris  for  selling  dia- 
monds to.  For  selling  pearls  I  should  recom- 
mend Voirier  and  Company.  Isidore  Voirier 
is  the  best  judge  in  Paris  of  what  pearls  are 
worth,  and  really  an  unusually  honest  man  as 
things  are  at  present.  If  he  doubles  when  sell- 
ing the  price  he  gave  when  buying  he  is  quite 
pleased  with  himself.  The  real  screws  are  in 
JLondon." 

"Do  you  mean  that  it  is  easier  to  get  a  fair 
price  for  jewels  in  Paris  just  now  than  it  is  in 
London  ?" 

"Much  easier,  according  to  my  information. 
You  might  tell  your  Muscovite  that." 

As  he  spoke  Cockayne  shot  a  penetrating 
glance  from  his  grey  eyes,  which  were  sur- 
[162] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


rounded  by  wrinkles,  at  Derrick.  And  the  lat- 
ter thought  rather  uneasily: 

"Can  he  have  read  my  mind?" 

They  parted  with  an  understanding  that 
they  would  meet  at  lunch  on  the  morrow. 


[163] 


CHAPTER  X 

THAT  night  Derrick  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  not  go  to  London.  He  hated  the 
idea  of  travelling  further  away  from  Mon- 
treux,  and,  after  what  Cockayne  had  told  him, 
lie  felt  sure  he  would  gain  nothing  by  taking 
the  journey.  Before  lunch  he  would  take  the 
Princess's  pearls  to  Voirier  and  Company,  ask 
for  Isidore  Voirier,  and  see  if  he  could  bring 
off  a  satisfactory  sale.  And  if  he  did  bring  it 
off— what  then?  The  thought  of  Cap  Martin 
came  into  his  mind,  of  the  pine  trees,  the  smell 
of  the  sea,  the  golden  sunshine.  Were  the 
snows  better?  It  was  good  to  walk  among  the 
pines  in  the  early  morning,  or  near  to  the  twi- 
light hour.  He  would  persuade  her  to  come 
there,  not  to  be  studied  by  Cockayne,  but  to  be 
his  companion.  If  she  came  out  of  the  cage, 
owing  to  his  action  in  opening  the  door,  surely 
it  was  right  that  he  should  share  her  first  days 
of  freedom.  She  could  hardly  refuse  him  that. 
Next  morning  the  waiter  brought  his  break- 
[164] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


fast  up  to  his  room,  and  he  got  up  and  put  on 
his  dressing-gown.  When  he  woke  he  had  been 
immediately  conscious  of  an  ugly  feeling  of 
acute  mental  depression.  The  day  was  foggy, 
and  he  was  sure  it  was  very  dreary  and  cold 
outside.  He  wished  he  were  in  his  room  at 
the  Monney.  But  if  he  sold  the  pearls  that 
morning  he  could  return  to  Montreux  almost 
immediately.  He  sat  down  by  the  table  and 
poured  out  his  coffee.  His  mind  still  felt  very 
disturbed,  like  the  mind  of  a  man  who  has  to 
face  some  disagreeable  event  in  the  course  of 
the  day.  He  thought  of  Cockayne  and  the  pre- 
vious evening,  and  realized  that  the  conversa- 
tion with  Cockayne  had  made  an  unpleasant 
impression  upon  him,  which  seemed  to  have 
grown  greater  mysteriously  while  he  had  been 
asleep.  Cockayne,  he  now  knew,  had  formed 
an  unfavourable  opinion  of  Princess  Aranen- 
sky  from  his  description  of  her.  And  yet  he 
had  certainly — or  so  he  believed — displayed  her 
as  a  fascinating  and  very  delightful  woman. 
But  Cockayne,  good  natured  as  he  was,  made  a 
sort  of  profession  of  "seeing  through"  people. 
He  considered  it  due  to  himself  to  pierce 
through  every  veil,  to  carry  every  defence,  and 
[165] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

to  find  reason  for  his  worldly  distrust  of  hu- 
manity in  every  citadel  which  he  inspected. 

But  Cockayne  certainly  had  a  sharp  mind; 
Derrick  wondered  whether  he  had  made  an 
accurate  guess  at  the  reason  for  his,  Derrick's, 
presence  in  Paris.  That  was  surely  impos- 
sible ;  and  yet  Cockayne  had  talked  a  good  deal 
about  jewels,  and  had  even  mentioned  the  best 
man  to  whom  jewels  might  be  disposed  of  in 
Paris.  But  that,  no  doubt,  was  merely  a 
chance  piece  of  information  thrown  out  in  the 
course  of  a  conversation  which  had  ranged  over 
many  subjects. 

Why  had  Cockayne  spoken  of  those  "appar- 
ently" frank  and  open  women  as  the  most  dan- 
gerous specimens  of  their  sex?  And  his  men- 
tion of  the  look  which  a  woman  thinks  a  man 
will  not  see ! 

The  remark  had  recalled  to  Derrick's  mind 
the  look  which  Princess  Aranensky  had  given 
to  Baroness  Hausen  one  night  at  dinner  at  the 
Monney,  swift,  surreptitious — perhaps  a  warn- 
ing look. 

Derrick  began  to  wish  that  he  had  not  come 
across  Cockayne  in  Paris.  But  that  could  not 
be  helped  now.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  some- 
[166] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


thing  deep  in  himself  seemed  to  be  reluctantly 
assenting  to  certain  of  Cockayne's  remarks 
about  women  prompted  by  the  sketch  given  to 
him  of  Princess  Aranensky.  It  must  surely  be 
so.  Otherwise  why  should  he  be  so  disturbed 
by  them  now? 

When  he  had  finished  his  breakfast  Derrick 
dressed.  Then  he  sent  for  a  directory,  looked 
up  Voirier  and  Company,  and  found  that  they 
carried  on  business  in  a  street  close  to  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix.  Then  he  went  downstairs  and 
asked  for  his  despatch  box  to  be  given  to  him 
out  of  the  safe.  When  he  had  received  it  he 
took  it  upstairs,  opened  it,  and  lifted  out  the 
pearls. 

The  morning  was  very  dark.  He  turned  on 
the  electric  light,  opened  the  case  and  examined 
the  pearls  closely. 

He  knew  practically  nothing  about  jewels, 
but  he  thought  that  these  looked  very  rare,  very 
precious,  fit  to  be  worn  by  a  woman  like  Prin- 
cess Aranensky.  He  weighed  the  strings  in 
his  hand  slowly  and  carefully,  lifting  his  hand 
and  letting  it  sink  two  or  three  times.  How 
long  these  pale  yellow  globes,  beautifully  grad- 
uated in  size,  had  lain  on  the  neck  and  bosom 
[167] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

of  the  woman  who  had  taken  possession  of  his 
thoughts !  Perhaps  they  were  family  jewels,  or 
perhaps  they  had  been  given  to  her  by  a  man 
who  had  loved  her,  by  her  dead  husband,  or  by 
some  lover.  And  now  she  had  had  to  resign 
them — because  of  the  War. 

The  War! 

The  electric  light  gleamed  on  the  pearls, 
giving  to  them  an  exquisite,  very  delicate,  lus- 
tre. As  he  looked  at  them,  Derrick  was  able 
to  understand,  at  least  partially,  women's  pas- 
sion for  pearls.  For  they  were  subtle  in  their 
beauty,  mysterious  in  their  sheen,  reticent  in 
their  appeal  to  the  eyes.  In  their  perfection 
they  were  not  ostentatious.  Perhaps  among 
jewels  they  were  really  the  aristocrats.  He 
wondered  how  much  the  Princess  had  cared  for 
these  pearls  which  he  weighed  in  his  hand,  how 
much  she  had  suffered  in  giving  them  up.  Per- 
haps she  had  not  suffered  at  all.  She  had  told 
him  that  she  had  ceased  to  care  for  such  things. 
But  that  might  have  been  merely  a  courageous 
lie. 

And  so  the  War  had  touched  even  her,  had 
affected  her  life,  more,  had  affected  her  nature. 
For  she  had  said  so  with  bitterness.  He  won- 
[168] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


dered  what  she  had  been  before  the  War,  and 
just  how  it  had  changed  her. 

A  knock  at  the  door  startled  him.  Hastily 
he  dropped  the  pearls  into  their  case  and  shut 
it.  The  waiter  came  in  to  clear  away  the 
breakfast. 

A  few  minutes  later  Derrick  went  down,  car- 
rying the  despatch  box,  hailed  a  taxi  and  told 
the  man  to  drive  to  Voirier's  jewel  shop. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?"  asked  a  mid- 
dle-aged man,  very  smartly  dressed  in  a  per- 
fectly fitting  frock-coat  and  dark  trousers,  with 
a  large  diamond  pin  gleaming  in  his  black  satin 
cravat.  "What  can  I  show  you?" 

"Nothing,  thank  you.  I  wish  to  see  Mon- 
sieur Isidore  Voirier.  Is  he  in?" 

The  middle-aged  man  cast  a  glance  at  Der- 
rick's despatch  box,  and  looked  rather  dubious. 

"I'm  not  quite  sure,  sir.  I'm  not  certain 
whether  he  has  arrived  yet.  Perhaps  you  could 
tell  me  what  it  is  you  wish  to  see  him  about." 

Derrick  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"I  believe  Monsieur  Voirier  is  an  expert 
judge  of  jewels,  especially  of  pearls." 

The  middle-aged  man  smiled  faintly. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir.  Our  Monsieur  Isidore  is  con- 
[169] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

sidered  quite  the  best  judge  of  jewels  in  Paris." 

"I  wish  to  show  him  some  pearls  and  to  ask 
his  advice  about  them." 

"Ah — exactly !  Pray  take  a  seat.  I  will  go 
and  see  if  Monsieur  Isidore  has  arrived." 

Derrick  sat  down  by  a  case  in  which  pend- 
ants were  displayed  under  glass,  and  held  the 
despatch  box  on  his  knees.  Meanwhile  the 
middle-aged  man  walked  slowly  away  and  dis- 
appeared through  a  doorway  at  the  back  of  the 
shop.  Exactly  at  the  same  moment  a  young 
man  with  beady  black  eyes  entered  the  shop  by 
another  door  sheeted  with  plate-glass,  and 
stood  in  an  indifferent  attitude,  looking  vague- 
ly in  the  direction  of  Derrick. 

A  long  silence  ensued.  Derrick  felt  oddly 
uncomfortable,  almost  nervous.  He  supposed 
this  was  because  he  was  totally  unaccustomed 
to  transact  business  in  a  jeweller's  shop.  He 
shifted  the  box  on  his  knees,  looked  up,  and 
saw  the  beady  eyes  of  the  young  man  fixed 
vaguely,  yet,  he  thought,  knowingly,  upon  it. 
The  young  man  looked  away  and  coughed 
faintly.  A  few  more  minutes  passed.  During 
them  Derrick  listened  to  the  roar  of  the  traffic 
[170] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


of  Paris,  and  stared  at  the  gleaming  pendants 
arranged  on  grey  velvet. 

At  last  the  door  at  the  back  of  the  shop 
opened,  and  the  middle-aged  man  reappeared. 

"If  you  will  come  this  way,  sir,  Monsieur 
Isidore  will  see  you." 

Derrick  got  up  and  followed  him,  holding 
the  box  tightly. 

The  middle-aged  man  showed  him  into  a 
small,  well- furnished  room,  in  which  stood  a 
short  man,  totally  bald,  with  a  white,  fat  face, 
waxed  black  moustaches  and  large  keen  brown 
eyes. 

"The  gentleman,  Monsieur  Isidore,"  he  said, 
and  went  out  softly. 

Monsieur  Isidore  bowed,  looking  hard  at 
Derrick. 

"I  understand  that  you  wish  to  consult  me 
about  some  jewels,  monsieur,"  he  said,  in 
French.  "Pray  sit  down." 

Derrick  sat  down  and  put  his  box  on  a  table 
beside  him. 

"I  do.    I  have  just  come  from  Switzerland." 

"Ah!" 

Monsieur  Isidore  moved  his  bald  head  as  he 
uttered  this  non-committal  ejaculation. 
[171] 


"While  there  I  came  into  possession  of  some 
very  valuable  pearls." 

"Ah!" 

"I  believe  you  buy  pearls?" 

"But  certainly!" 

"I  — I  bought  these  pearls." 

"Ah!" 

"With — with  a  view  to  selling  them." 

"At  an  advance.  Exactly.  We  are  contin- 
ually getting  jewels  from  Switzerland.  And 
I  suppose  you  wish  me  to  buy  your  pearls  if 
they  are  likely  to  suit  my  clientele?" 

"Yes." 

"Pray  allow  me  to  see  them." 

Derrick  drew  out  his  key,  opened  the  des- 
patch box  and  took  out  the  jewel-case.  He 
was  about  to  open  it  when  Monsieur  Isidore 
held  out  a  fat,  white  hand. 

"Allow  me,  monsieur!" 

Very  delicately,  indeed  almost  tenderly,  he 
took  the  case  into  his  hand,  carried  it  to  a  little 
table  near  a  window,  switched  on  two  electric 
lamps,  and  sat  down  with  his  fat  back  turned 
to  Derrick.  Then  he  opened  a  drawer  in  the 
table  and  took  out  a  lens.  This  done,  he 
opened  the  case  very  gently  and  exposed  the 
[172] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


pearls  to  view,  and  looked  at  them  for  a  mo- 
ment as  they  lay  gleaming  softly  in  the  light 
from  the  lamps.  Finally,  he  fixed  the  lens  in 
his  right  eye,  picked  up  the  pearls  and  closely 
examined  them  for  two  or  three  minutes,  shift- 
ing the  strings  slowly  through  his  cushioned 
white  fingers. 

Derrick  sat  still  and  looked  at  him,  and 
again — he  did  not  know  why — felt  nervous, 
rather  as  a  man  often  does  who  is  being  ex- 
amined in  silence  by  a  celebrated  doctor. 

At  last  Monsieur  Isidore  laid  the  pearls 
down,  rather  brusquely,  took  the  lens  from  his 
eye,  turned  in  his  chair,  and  cast  at  Derrick 
a  very  peculiar  glance,  which  seemed  to  be 
compounded  of  sharp  inquiry  and  of  menace. 

"May  I  ask,  monsieur,  who  sent  you  to  me?" 
he  said.  "How  you  came  to  hear  of  my  poor 
existence?" 

"I  was  dining  last  night  with  a  friend,  a 
Monsieur  Cockayne ;  he  spoke  of  you." 

"Monsieur  Cockayne — I  do  not  know  him." 

"He  didn't  say  he  knew  you.  He  merely 
told  me  you  were  a  fine  judge  of  pearls." 

"It  is  my  business." 

He  paused. 

[173] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"Did  this  Monsieur  Cockayne  know  you  had 
pearls  to  sell?" 

"No.  He  simply  mentioned  your  name  in 
the  course  of  general  conversation." 

"Ah!" 

Monsieur  Isidore  was  silent.  He  folded  his 
fat  hands  together  and  looked  down  at  them 
meditatively,  as  if  he  were  considering  very 
seriously  what  line  he  was  going  to  take. 
Then,  looking  up  again,  he  said : 

"Pardon,  monsieur,  but  do  you  tell  me  you 
personally  bought  these" — he  negligently 
flicked  the  pearls  with  a  forefinger  without 
turning  to  see  exactly  where  they  lay — "these 
— ah — pearls?" 

"Yes." 

"May  I  venture  to  ask  how  much  you  paid 
for  them?" 

"Six  thousand  pounds." 

"Six  thousand  pounds !"  He  moved  his  bald 
head  slowly  up  and  down.  "Is  it  possible?"  he 
concluded. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'is  it  possible?'  "  said 
Derrick. 

Monsieur  Isidore  twisted  his  nose  sideways 
and  slightly  sniffed. 

[174] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"These  pearls  are  false,"  he  said,  sharply 
observing  his  visitor. 

The  blood  rushed  to  Derrick's  forehead. 

"False!"  he  exclaimed,  instinctively  getting 
on  to  his  feet. 

"They  are  imitation  pearls,  quite  good  ones 
of  their  kind.  Unfortunately,  Voirier  and  CQ. 
dv,  not  deal  in  artificial  jewels,  but  only  in  real 
ones.  So  I  cannot  offer  to  buy  these." 

Again  he  contemptuously  flicked  the  pearls 
with  his  finger. 

''I  will  put  them  away  for  you,"  he  said, 
turning  round. 

"Stop  a  minute,  please!"  said  Derrick. 

"Yes?" 

Derrick  came  up  to  the  table  and  stood  look- 
ing down  on  the  pearls. 

"I  cannot — I  simply  cannot  believe  that  you 
have  not  made  a  mistake,"  he  said. 

"I  make  a  mistake  about  pearls!" 

"Oh,  I've  no  doubt  you  are  a  great  expert, 
but  even  an  expert " 

"My  dear  monsieur,  if  you  like  go  round 
the  corner,  go  all  down  the  Rue  de  la  Paix, 
show  the  pearls  to  Cartier,  to  anyone  you 
[175] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

please.  The  verdict  will  be  the  same  as  mine. 
These — pearls — are — false." 

"But— but— I  can't  believe  it." 

"Why  not?  Since  you  come  to  me  as  an  ex- 
pert, why  cannot  you  believe  what  I  say?" 

"Because — the  circumstances  in  which  I 
bought  the  pearls  prohibit  me  from  believ- 
ing  " 

He  stopped. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  paid  six 
thousand  pounds  for  them  without  having  them 
valued?" 

"I  was  told  they  were  worth  at  least  twelve 
thousand  pounds." 

"By  whom?    By  the  seller?" 

Derrick  was  silent  under  the  satirical  gaze  of 
the  keen  brown  eyes. 

"Monsieur,  I  am  sorry — may  I  say  one  feels 
your  bona  fides  of  the  English  gentleman — but 
you  have  been  done.  I  may  tell  you  that  you 
are  not  the  first.  Others  have  been  over  to 
Switzerland  lately  and  have  burnt  their  fin- 
gers. May  I  hazard  a  guess?  The  person  who 
sold  you  these  things  was  a  woman?" 

Derrick  said  nothing.  Monsieur  Isidore 
smiled  faintly,  lifting  his  pointed  moustaches. 
[176] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"Allow  me  to  put  up  your  property,"  he  said. 

And  he  carelessly,  almost  contemptuously, 
shoved,  rather  than  insinuated,  the  pearls  into 
their  case,  snapped  the  cover  down,  and  handed 
the  case  to  Derrick. 

"Good-bye,  monsieur!"  he  said,  moving  to- 
wards the  door.  "I  am  really  very  sorry — very 
sorry  indeed!" 

He  opened  the  door.  Derrick  put  the  case 
into  his  despatch-box,  and  turned  to  go  out  of 
the  room.  He  felt  sick,  and  had  difficulty  in 
walking  steadily. 

"This  way,  monsieur!" 

Monsieur  Isidore  opened  the  door  into  the 
shop. 

The  middle-aged  man  in  the  frock-coat  and 
the  young  man  with  the  beady  eyes  were  both 
there,  and  both  of  them  looked  first  at  Derrick 
and  then  at  the  box  as  he  came  in. 

"Good-bye,  monsieur!" 

Monsieur  Isidore  spoke. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Derrick. 

And  he  walked  slowly  down  the  shop  and 
out  into  the  traffic  of  Paris. 


[177] 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHEN  Derrick  was  outside  in  the  street  and 
had  walked  a  few  steps  he  stood  still  and  hesi- 
tated. He  believed  what  Isidore  Voirier  had 
said  about  the  pearls.  The  man  was  an  expert, 
was  perpetually  judging  the  value  of  jewels. 
His  manner  had  been  that  of  one  who  knew 
what  .he  was  doing  and  who  was  almost  con- 
temptuously convinced  of  his  own  ability. 
When  he  had  taken  the  pearls  from  Derrick 
he  had  taken  them  carefully,  almost  with  a 
sort  of  reverence,  like  one  receiving  into  his 
hands  something  very  precious.  But  after  he 
had  examined  them  his  manner  had  changed 
completely.  He  had  shown  the  scorn  he  felt 
for  pretences.  When  he  had  put  the  pearls 
back  into  the  case  he  had  handled  them  almost 
with  disgust,  as  if  it  offended  him  to  touch 
them,  as  if  he  were  in  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of 
and  forget  them.  He  must  know;  the  pearls 
must  be  false. 

And  yet  Derrick  hesitated  now,  reluctant  to 
[178] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


lose  for  ever  a  faith,  perhaps  an  illusion,  which 
he  had  cherished,  which  he  wished  still  to  cling 
to.  He  tried  to  tell  himself  that  even  an  Isi- 
dore Voirier  might  make  a  mistake,  that  it 
would  be  foolish,  wrong  even,  to  take  the  word 
of  one  man  as  final  in  a  matter  of  such  tre- 
mendous importance.  Experts  do  make  mis- 
takes. The  cleverest  man  is  not  infallible. 
And  when  the  honour  of  a  woman,  the  faith 
and  the  happiness  of  a  man,  are  at  stake,  it 
is  surely  madness  not  to  take  a  second  opinion? 

A  passer-by,  hurrying  through  the  murk  of 
the  ghastly  morning,  knocked  against  Derrick, 
and  passed  on  with  a  perfunctory  "Pardon, 
m'sieu!"  Derrick  moved  and  slowly  walked 
on  till  he  came  into  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  There 
he  stopped  again,  this  time  in  front  of  a  jewel- 
ler's window,  in  which  a  very  few  exquisite  or- 
naments were  displayed  against  a  pale  back- 
ground of  velvet. 

He  was  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  to  go 
into  this  shop  and  to  test  his  fate  once  more. 

He  stood  in  front  of  the  window,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  examining  the  jewels  in  it  while 
he  considered  the  matter.  He  still  felt  phys- 
ically affected,  almost  as  if  his  body  had  re- 
[179] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

ceived  a  severe  blow;  and  his  mind  was  not 
working  normally.  One  of  the  ornaments  in 
this  shop  shown  to  the  passers-by  was  a  small 
necklace  of  pearls  with  a  diamond  clasp  and 
a  pendant  of  diamonds  and  pearls.  Derrick 
stared  at  it  for  a  long  time,  trying  to  draw  a 
comparison  between  these  pearls  and  the  pearls 
hidden  in  his  despatch  box.  Which  looked  the 
finer,  the  more  precious?  He  could  not  tell. 
But  it  seemed  to  him  that  if  his  pearls  were 
displayed  with  cunning  they  would  look  quite 
as  beautiful  as  the  jewels  he  was  now  gazing 
at. 

His  pearls! 

Yes,  he  must  have  another  verdict.  He 
pulled  himself  together  and  entered  the  shop. 

Three  well-dressed  men  were  in  it,  one  an 
old  man  with  a  long,  very  French  face,  the 
other  two  young  with  suave  mouths  and  ob- 
servant eyes.  The  old  man  at  once  took  Der- 
rick in  hand. 

"What  do  you  wish,  m'sieu?" 

"Do  you  buy  jewels?"  asked  Derrick. 

The  two  young  men  looked  suddenly  intent. 

"Monsieur  wishes  not  to  buy,  but  to  sell?" 
said  the  old  man,  with  obvious  surprise. 
[180] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"I  have  some  pearls  which  I  wish  to  get  rid 
of.  They  are  of  no  use  to  me.  But  I  have  no 
idea  of  their  value.  It  may  be  great  or  small. 
I  should  like  to — to  have  your  opinion  upon  the 
matter.  If  the  jewels  are  of  any  great  value 
I  should  like  to  dispose  of  them,  if  possible." 

"Well,  we  do  buy  jewels,  of  course,"  said  the 
old  man,  with  a  rather  dubious,  and  even 
slightly  suspicious  manner.  "But " 

"Is  there  anyone  here  who  is  an  expert  in 
jewels?"  said  Derrick,  with  sudden  despera- 
tion, and  feeling  hot  all  over.  "I  want  a  judg- 
ment on  my  pearls." 

He  looked  at  the  two  young  men,  who  were 
both  gazing  at  him. 

After  a  slight  pause  the  old  man  said: 

"Have  you  shown  them  to  anyone  else?" 

"Yes;  Monsieur  Isidore  Voirier  has  seen 
them." 

"Monsieur  Isidore  Voirier!"  said  the  old 
man,  with  deep  respect,  and  pursing  up  his  thin 
lips. 

He  glanced  round  at  his  two  subordinates, 
then  again  at  Derrick. 

"May  I  inquire  what  he  thought  of  them?" 

"If  you  will  look  at  them,  or  get  your  ex- 
[181] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

pert — if  you  have  one — to  look  at  them,  I  will 
tell  you  afterwards  Monsieur  Voirier's 
opinion." 

"I  am,  perhaps,  a  fairly  good  judge  of  such 
things,  though  I  should  not  certainly  put  my- 
self on  the  level  of  Monsieur  Isidore  Voirier." 

"Then  please  look  at  my  pearls  and  give  me 
your  opinion  of  their  value." 

"Very  well,  monsieur." 

Derrick  put  his  despatch  box  on  the  counter. 
The  two  young  men  drew  gently  nearer.  How 
he  hated  them  at  that  moment!  He  opened 
the  box  awkwardly,  lifted  out  the  case,  opened 
it  and  pulled  out  the  pearls.  Then  he  said 
brusquely : 

"There  they  are!  Have  a  good  look  at 
them!" 

"Monsieur  will  not  mind  if  I  take  them  away 
for  a  moment?" 

"Certainly  not.    Of  course  not." 

The  old  man  took  the  pearls  up  in  his  yellow- 
ish, long-nailed  hands,  went  away  to  a  table  set 
against  the  back  wall  of  the  shop,  turned  on 
an  electric  light,  opened  a  drawer,  and  prob- 
ably drew  out  a  lens.  (But  Derrick  could  not 
see  exactly  what  he  was  doing. )  Then  he  sat 
[182] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


down,  and  there  was  a  pause.  Presently  he 
looked  round,  made  an  odd  noise  in  his  throat, 
got  up,  turned  out  the  light,  laid  something 
down  on  the  table,  and  came  back  with  the 
pearls  in  his  hand. 

"Well— well?"  said  Derrick. 

"I  could  not  tell  you  the  exact  value  of  these, 
m'sieu,"  he  said.  "But  they  are  very  good  imi- 
tation pearls,  as  no  doubt  Monsieur  Isidore 
Voirier  told  you,  very  good  imitations  indeed. 
I  cannot  remember  that  I  have  ever  seen  bet- 
ter. We  do  not,  of  course,  buy  imitation  jew- 
els. It  is  not  in  our  line." 

"No.  Thank  you  very  much.  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you." 

"If  you  want  the  name  of  a  man  who  buys 
things  of  this  sort " 

"No,  thank  you.    No!" 

The  case  was  shut  with  a  click.  Another 
click,  and  the  despatch  box  was  shut. 

"Good  morning," 

"Good  morning,  m'sieu !   Allow  me  I" 

The  shop  door  was  opened,  and  Derrick  was 
once  more  on  the  pavement. 

This  time  he  did  not  hesitate,  but  walked 
[183] 


away  at  once  in  the  direction  of  the  Hotel 
Crillon. 

When  he  got  there  it  was  twelve  o'clock,  and 
he  remembered  that  he  was  due  at  half -past 
twelve  at  the  Ritz  Hotel,  where  Cockayne  was 
to  lunch  with  him  as  his  guest  in  the  restaurant. 
He  put  the  despatch  box  on  a  table.  There 
was  no  need  now  to  consign  it  to  the  safe  of  the 
hotel.  In  fact,  there  never  had  been  any  need 
for  such  a  precaution.  Then  he  sat  down  in 
an  arm-chair  and  tried  to  sum  things  up. 

He  had  been  "done,"  swindled  grossly. 
There  was  no  longer  any  room  for  doubt  about 
that.  In  his  own  eyes  he  was  now  ridiculous, 
contemptible — and  tragic. 

"Moral  riff-raff !"  Where  had  he  heard  that 
phrase?  He  tried  dully  to  remember.  Ah, 
yes — she  had  said  it!  Moral  riff-raff!  And 
that  was  just  what  she  was.  Dully  he  won- 
dered about  her.  Even  now  he  was  not  able 
to  thing  of  her  as  a  clever  adventuress.  When 
he  thought  of  her,  when  he  remembered  things 
about  her,  her  look,  her  manner,  her  ways,  her 
conversation,  he  felt  that  she  was  a  distin- 
guished woman,  a  thorough  lady,  an  aristocrat 
through  and  through. 

[184] 


And  yet  she  had  deliberately  swindled  him 
out  of  six  thousand  pounds. 

The  fact  seemed  incredible. 

He  remembered  his  conversation  with  the 
director  of  the  Monney  Hotel.  That  conversa- 
tion, perhaps,  should  have  warned  him,  should 
have  put  him  on  the  qui  vive. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  Baroness  Hausen. 
What  role  had  she  played  in  all  this  affair? 
It  was  she  who  had  prompted  him  in  the  mat- 
ter of  the  jewels.  Had  she,  perhaps,  also 
prompted  Princess  Aranensky?  Could  the 
Princess  have  conceived  such  a  plan  without  an 
evil  genius  at  her  elbow  to  suggest  it  to  her 
as  a  way  out  of  her  difficulties?  And  yet  she 
still  seemed  to  Derrick  to  be  the  dominating 
spirit  in  that  alliance  of  two  women. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  If  he  were  going 
to  the  Ritz  it  was  time  to  be  off.  He  did  not 
feel  fit  to  go  anywhere  or  to  be  with  anyone. 
And  yet  loneliness  was  utterly  hateful  to  him 
at  that  moment.  For  never  had  he  felt  more 
dreadfully  alone  than  he  did  now. 

After  a  moment's  debate  he  resolved  that  he 
would  pull  himself  together  and  go  to  the  Ritz. 

While  he  was  going  there  it  occurred  to  him 
[185] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

that  probably  the  cheque  he  had  given  to  the 
Princess  had  not  been  passed  through  the  bank 
and  that  by  sending  a  telegram  to  London  he 
might  be  able  to  stop  it.  The  Princess  had  cer- 
tainly not  been  in  a  hurry  to  cash  it,  because 
when  he  had  definitely  proposed  to  her  and  she 
had  refused  him  she  had  taken  the  cheque  from 
a  locked  drawer  and  had  offered  to  give  it  back 
to  him.  So  there  might  still  be  time. 

He  called  out  to  the  taxi-cab  driver  and  told 
him  to  drive  to  the  nearest  post  office. 

"Bien,  m'sieu,"  said  the  man. 

In  two  or  three  minutes  he  drew  up  beside 
the  kerb. 

"Via,  m'sieu!" 

Derrick  got  out  of  the  cab  and  went  slowly 
into  the  post  office.  It  was  very  full  of  people, 
and^  he  could  not  immediately  get  hold  of  a 
telegraph-form  and  a  pen  or  pencil.  So  he 
stood  and  waited.  He  looked  at  the  muddle  of 
people,  at  the  dingy  room,  and  then  at  his 
watch.  It  was  close  upon  half -past  twelve. 
If  he  did  not  hurry  to  the  Ritz  he  would  be 
late.  He  knew  Cockayne  well,  and,  no  doubt, 
Cockayne  would  not  mind  waiting  for  a  few 
minutes.  Still,  when  you  are  the  host  it  is  im- 
[186] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


polite  to  keep  a  guest  waiting.  Derrick  de- 
cided to  send  the  telegram  later.  After  lunch- 
eon would  do.  That  would  only  mean  a  delay 
of  an  hour  and  a  half  or  so.  He  turned,  went 
out  of  the  post  office,  got  into  the  cab  and  drove 
to  the  Ritz. 

Cockayne  was  in  the  hall,  and  they  went  in 
immediately  to  lunch.  After  a  little  talk  Cock- 
ayne asked  Derrick  whether  he  had  decided 
on  his  plans  for  the  immediate  future,  and 
whether,  and  if  so  when,  he  was  going  to 
London. 

"I've  decided  to  follow  your  advice  and  give 
up  the  journey  to  England,"  he  said.  "My 
business  there  isn't  very  important  and  can  be 
put  off." 

"Good!  Then  what  about  Cap  Martin? 
Why  don't  you  come  there  with  me?  We'll  go 
to  Marseilles,  stay  a  couple  of  days,  lunch  and 
dine  at  La  Reserve  and  take  a  dip  into  the  ex- 
traordinary life  of  rascality  there.  They  tell 
me  Marseilles  of  after  the  War  is  a  phenome- 
non. Crooks  of  all  the  nations  of  the  world 
gathered  together  to  fleece  the  travellers  who 
are  perpetually  held  up  by  strikes  and  can't 
get  away  by  sea;  yellow  men  by  the  hundred; 
[187] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

Spahis  on  the  loose ;  Arab  chieftains  decorated 
up  to  the  eyes  having  the  time  of  their  lives  in 
the  redecorated  hotels ;  South  Americans  burst- 
ing with  money  who've  come  over  to  burn  it  in 
exhausted  Europe.  A  man  I  met  here  yester- 
day said  to  me,  'Whatever  you  do  have  a  good 
look  at  Marseilles.  You'd  learn  more  about 
human  nature  in  a  couple  of  days  there  than 
you  would  in  as  many  months  anywhere  else.' ' 

"I — I  don't  know  whether  I'm  keen  on 
learning  anything  more  about  human  nature," 
said  Derrick. 

"Had  enough  of  it?"  asked  Cockayne,  with 
a  keen  glance. 

"It  isn't  very  profitable,  is  it?" 

"Depends  what  you  want  out  of  it.  If 
you're  out  for  amusement  you'll  get  it." 

"And  if  you're  out  for  a  little  bit  of  sin^ 
cerity  you  damned  well  won't  get  it!"  said  Der- 
rick, bitterly.  "It's  all  very  well  to  talk  about 
amusement.  But  some  of  us  get  tired  of  star- 
ing perpetually  at  a  satiric  comedy ;  and  that's 
what  life  is.  Some  of  us  were  fools  enough  to 
think  the  War  would  make  a  difference " 

"Well,  so  it  has!"  interjected  Cockayne. 

"A  difference  the  wrong  way!  Yes,  that's 
[188] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


it!    Human  beings  are  more  disgusting  tljan 
ever  now." 

"My  dear  fellow,  you  want  too  much." 

"Perhaps  I  do!  Well,  never  mind.  I'll 
come  with  you  to  Marseilles,  Cap  Martin,  any- 
where you  like.  But  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  be 
very  good  company." 

Moved  by  a  sudden  and  overwhelming  im- 
pulse, Derrick  leaned  forward  over  the  table, 
and  added  in  a  low  voice : 

"I've  had  a  facer,  Cockayne,  a  terrific 
facer!" 

"My  dear  chap,  I'm  sorry.    Can  I  help?" 

"No.  I  was  a  fool,  no  doubt.  I  mixed  up 
friendship,  affection,  with  business." 

"And  you've  been  done?" 

"Done  to  a  turn!" 

"I'm  awfully  sorry." 

"And  even  now " 

He  pulled  up  short. 

"Talking  won't  mend  it!"  he  said.  "I  must 
try  to  forget  it.  It's  this  cursed  War  which 
has  brought  the  whole  thing  about.  People 
prate  about  moral  regeneration  coming  out  of 
the  War.  I  see  only  moral  degeneration  com- 
ing out  of  it — nothing  else." 
[189] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"You  must  give  people  time  to  settle  down," 
said  Cockayne,  with  a  sudden  unusual  earnest- 
ness. "We've  all  had  a  shake.  And  after  a 
shake  one's  not  wholly  normal.  I  forgive  peo- 
ple a  lot  just  now." 

"Do  you?" 

"So  many  of  them  have  fallen  into  holes  and 
don't  know  how  to  struggle  out  of  them. 
There's  a  heap  of  help  wanted." 

"If  people  would  only  let  one  know  the  exact 
truth,  instead  of  always  telling  lies,  it  would 
be  more  satisfactory  helping  them." 

"Half  the  time  they're  afraid." 

"What  of?" 

"They  are  afraid  to  trust  to  the  goodness 
in  others." 

"I  thought  you  had  no  faith  in  human  na- 
ture, that  you  didn't  believe  in  it." 

"My  dear  fellow,  one  believes  in  a  lot  more 
than  one  confesses  to.  Irony  is  one's  defensive 
armour.  That's  all!" 

When  lunch  was  over,  Derrick  said : 

"Let  us  leave  Paris  to-night  if  you  have 
nothing  special  to  do  here.  I  feel  I  shall  be 
better  out  of  it." 

"I  can  go  to-night." 

[190] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"That's  good.  And  now  if  you  don't  mind 
I'll  be  off.  I've  got  one  or  two  things  to  do." 

Derrick  still  thought  he  meant  to  go  to  a 
post  office  and  send  off  a  telegram  to  London. 
He  could  have  sent  a  telegram  from  the  Ritz, 
of  course,  but  somehow  he  didn't  care  to  do 
that.  An  acute  reserve  governed  him.  At 
the  Ritz  he  was  known.  At  a  public  office 
he  wouldn't  be  known. 

I3ut  when  he  was  out  of  the  hotel,  although 
he  passed  more  than  one  post  office  he  did  not 
send  any  telegram.  Each  time  he  was  on  the 
point  of  entering  through  the  swing  doors  he 
was  held  back  by  an  invisible  reluctance.  He 
said  to  himself,  "Suppose  she  did  not  know 
that  the  pearls  were  false!  Suppose  she  acted 
in  good  faith!"  That  was,  he  knew,  unlikely, 
even  almost  impossible.  He  could  not  really 
believe  it  to  be  possible.  And  yet — there  was 
just  the  chance.  By  some  extraordinary  com- 
bination of  circumstances  she  herself  might 
have  been  deceived  about  the  nature  of  the 
pearls.  If  he  sent  the  telegram  she  might  be  re- 
duced to  penury.  She  might  be  turned  out  of 
the  Monney  Hotel.  When  he  thought  of  that 
he  simply  couldn't  telegraph  to  the  bank.  And 
[191] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

he  went  back  to  the  Crillon  without  doing  so. 

In  the  evening  he  and  Cockayne  started  for 
Marseilles. 

They  managed  to  get  two  places  in  the  sleep- 
ing-car, but  Derrick  could  not  sleep.  He  lay 
awake  all  night  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  train 
and  thinking  of  the  immediate  past  and  of  his 
tragic  situation.  For  he  now  realized  how 
deeply  he  had  come  to  care  for  the  Princess, 
how  sincerely  he  had  admired  her,  and  how  in- 
tensely he  had  been  looking  forward  to  seeing 
her  again.  Although  she  had  definitely  refused 
him,  Derrick  had  certainly  not  lost  the  hope  of 
persuading  her  to  change  her  mind.  He  had, 
then,  come  to  believe  that  she  genuinely  cared 
for  him,  valued  his  company,  found  him  more 
sympathetic  to  her  than  others  were.  She  had 
hurt  him  in  his  pocket,  but  that  was  as  nothing 
f o  the  injury  she  had  inflicted  upon  him  in  his 
heart.  Over  and  over  in  his  mind  he  turned 
all  the  facts  of  his  short  friendship  with  her, 
trying  to  decide  whether  from  the  first  she  had 
marked  him  down  as  a  possible  prey,  or  whether 
she  had  been  driven  by  circumstances  unwill- 
ingly to  do  what  she  had  done,  hating  herself 
for  jthe  doing  of  it,  or  whether  she  had  been 
[192] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


tempted,  or  somehow  driven  to  do  it,  by  the 
abominable  influence  of  Baroness  Hausen,  a 
woman,  perhaps,  with  a  German  soul  housed 
in  her  technically  Russian  body.  And  in  this 
painful  mental  debate  he  tried  to  be  scrupu- 
lously fair.  ( He  now  felt  sure  that  she  could 
not  have  been  deceived  about  the  pearls. ) 

Some  very  disagreeable  facts  came  up  in  his 
memory.  For  instance,  he  remembered  that 
the  very  first  time  he  had  met  the  Princess  it 
had  seemed  to  him  as  if  her  mind  had  said  to 
his  mind,  "So !  It  is  at  Montreux  that  you  and 
I  had  to  meet.  I  could  not  go  to  England  to 
you,  so  you  have  come  to  Switzerland  to  me !" 
Did  that  mean  that  at  a  first  glance  she  had 
"spotted"  him  as  a  likely  victim?  If  so,  she 
had  probably  gone  up  to  Caux  on  the  day  when 
they  had  lunched  together  there  with  the  delib- 
erate intention  of  becoming  acquainted  with 
him.  She  might  have  found  out  that  he  had 
started  to  walk  up  there,  and  have  followed  him 
by  train  with  the  object  of  catching  him  alone. 

It  was  an  intolerable  supposition,  and  he 

fried  to  put  it  from  him.    Yet  how  could  he  be 

sure  that  it  was  not  so?    At  the  concert  on  the 

previous  night,  when  the  Princess  had  turned 

[193] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

round  after  Litvinne's  singing  of  Les  Roses 
d'Ispahan,"  he  had  felt  quite  definitely  that  she 
intended  to  know  him.  Why?  He  could  no 
longer  imagine  that  it  was  for  the  sake  of  his 
beaux  yeiwc. 

There  were  other  things,  too,  which  he  re- 
membered with  a  now  painful  distinctness. 

She  had  spoken  to  him  of  her  belief  in  human 
kindness  and,  looking  at  him  fixedly,  had  said, 
"People  have  told  me  that  there  is  much  of  it 
in  England."  At  the  time  he  had  felt  pleased 
and  warmed  by  that  statement,  but  now  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  the  thought  in  her  mind  at 
that  moment  might  very  well  have  been,  "Here, 
perhaps,  is  an  English  fool  ready  to  my  hand." 
And  her  apparent  disinterestedness,  her  re- 
fusals to  allow  him  ever  to  pay  trifling  sums 
for  her — all  those  might  have  been  handfuls  of 
dust  thrown  in  his  eyes  with  the  subtle  purpose 
of  effectually  blinding  him,  so  that  he  might 
never  suspect  her  real  character,  her  unyielding 
and  coldly  pursued  purpose. 

But  she  might  have  married  him,  have  shel- 
tered herself  from  all  poverty  for  the  rest  of 
her  life!  She  had  known  that  he  was  rich. 
Why  then  had  she  refused  him?  An  adventur- 
[194] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


ess  would  surely  have  jumped  at  the  chance  he 
had  offered  her. 

At  Leysin  she  had  told  him  that  in  her 
opinion  the  War  had  affected  the  morals  of 
men  and  women  for  the  worse,  and  had  alluded 
to  the  almost  universal  excuse  of  "shell-shock" 
put  forth  by  those  who  did  what  they  knew  to 
be  detestable. 

"I  should  use  it  myself,  I  know,  if  neces- 
sary," she  had  added.  "And — perhaps  there 
is  really  something  in  it."  And  then  she  had 
shot  at  him  one  of  those  subtle  looks  which  even 
then  had  obscurely  troubled  him,  and  which  he 
had  never  been  able  to  understand.  Had  she 
been  pardoning  herself  then  for  what  she  in- 
tended to  do  to  him  in  the  future? 

"There  is  nothing  which  a  human  being 
might  not  do  if  sufficient  occasion  arose." 

That  was  another  saying  of  hers  which  to 
Derrick  now  seemed  terribly  significant.  And 
he  repeated  to  himself  in  the  night  her  fatalistic 
remark  when  he  had  questioned  her — or  half 
hinted  a  question  to  her — as  to  Baroness  Hau- 
sen's  influence  upon  her- — "It  is  not  the  Katyas 
who  really  influence  us,  my  friend.  It  is  the 
terrible  Zeitgeist ;  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  Time." 
[195] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

Then  the  night  when  the  Princess  had  asked 
him  to  take  the  Baroness  to  the  Casino!  On 
that  night  the  Baroness  had  asked  him  to  help 
the  Princess  by  buying  her  pearls.  Her  mis- 
sion to  Geneva  that  day  had  failed.  Why? 
Probably  the  Princess  had  really  shrunk  from 
trying  to  palm  the  false  jewels  off  upon  him, 
and  had  made  a  genuine  effort  to  swindle  some 
other,  unknown  person.  The  effort  had  proved 
abortive.  Probably  the  other  man  had  been 
too  sharp.  He  would  never  know  about  that. 
But  he  now  felt  certain  that  on  that  night  the 
Princess  had  finally  decided  if  possible  to  make 
him  her  victim,  and  had  contrived  that  the 
Baroness  should  be  alone  with  him  in  order 
that  she  might  prepare  the  ground. 

In  the  early  morning,  summing  the  whole 
matter  up  to  himself  as  well  as  he  was  able  in 
his  miserable  condition  of  mind,  Derrick  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  Princess  Aranensky  had 
been  at  her  wits*  end  for  money  when  he  first 
met  her,  that  she  had  thought  of  him  as  a 
man  from  whom  possibly  she  might  obtain 
help,  that  she  had  really  grown  to  like  him  as 
their  intercourse  had  developed,  that  she  had 
struggled  against  the  pernicious  temptation  to 
[196} 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


try  and  swindle  him,  that  she  had  attempted 
to  get  rid  of  the  pearls  at  Geneva,  and  that, 
having  failed  in  that  attempt,  she  had  at  last 
been  driven  by  the  pressure  of  necessity  to  do 
what  she  had  done,  hating  herself  for  the  doing 
of  it.  But  why  she  had  refused  to  marry  him, 
and  why  she  had — surely  deliberately — given 
him  the  definite  impression  that  she  would 
never  accept  a  gift  of  money  from  him  he  could 
not  understand.  Surely  it  would  have  been 
less  detestable  to  the  pride  of  an  aristocratic 
woman  to  take  money  from  him  as  a  gift  than 
to  steal  it  from  him  by  a  deception! 

But  six  thousand  pounds!  That  was  a  big 
sum.  He  would,  of  course,  never  have  offered 
to  give  her  so  much.  She  had  known  that,  of 
course.  So,  perhaps,  she  had  decided  to  play 
only  for  high  stakes.  That  was  possible.  The 
marriage  question  he  could  not  resolve — un- 
less  

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  Derrick  that  there 
might  be  another  man  in  the  case.  And  he 
burned  with  jealousy  at  the  thought.  Yes, 
even  now,  after  what  had  happened,  he  could 
be  jealous  of  the  Princess.  That  was  sheer  mad- 
ness. Yet  he  writhed  on  his  narrow  bed.  Why 
[197] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

had  she  lingered  on  in  Montreux  when  the  door 
of  the  cage  was  open?  Why  had  she  evidently 
been  determined  that  he  should  leave  the  place 
before  she  did?  Why  had  she  wished  him  to 
travel  as  far  as  London  to  get  rid  of  the  pearls, 
instead  of  trying  to  dispose  of  them  in  Paris? 

Paris  was  nearer  to  Montreux  than  London. 
He  wished  that  he  were  in  a  train  rushing  to 
Switzerland  instead  of  in  the  Paris  and  Mar- 
seilles rapide.  In  Paris  he  had  never  contem- 
plated trying  to  see  the  Princess  again  after  he 
had  learnt  that  the  pearls  were  false.  But  now 
a  strong  desire  leapt  up  in  him  to  go  back  and 
confront  her,  and  have  it  out  with  her,  force 
from  her  the  whole  truth  of  the  matter.  She 
could  not  refuse  him  the  truth.  He  would  find 
means  to  compel  her  to  tell  it  to  him. 

"What's  the  time ?  Have  you  got  the  time?" 
said  a  muffled  voice  above  him. 

Derrick  looked  at  his  wrist-watch. 

"Ten  minutes  past  six,"  he  called  out. 

"Seven?" 

"No,  six." 

"Thank  God — time  for  some  more  sleep." 

And  he  heard  Cockayne  turn  over  in  the 
berth  overhead. 

[198] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


The  train  was  nearly  two  hours  late  in  reach- 
ing Marseilles.  Cockayne  had  telegraphed 
from  Paris  to  the  Hotel  du  Louvre  et  de  la 
Paix  asking  for  rooms  to  be  reserved  for  them, 
but  when  they  arrived  at  the  hotel  it  was  cram- 
med, and  the  manager  told  them  that  he  could 
do  nothing  for  them.  There  was  a  big  ship  due 
to  sail  for  India  that  day,  but  she  had  not  ar- 
rived in  the  port  yet,  and  there  was  reason  to 
suppose  that  her  departure  for  the  East  would 
be  delayed,  probably  for  two  or  three  days. 
Meanwhile  some  scores  of  travellers  were  wait- 
ing for  her  in  Marseilles. 

"Our  last  two  rooms  were  taken  only  last 
night  by  a  lady  and  gentleman  who  are  sailing 
on  the  Qphir,  monsieur.  I'm  very  sorry.  I 
should  advise  you  to  try  at  the  Hotel  de 
Noailles.  It  has  recently  been  redecorated 
from  top  to  bottom,  and  is  the  best  hotel  in 
the  town,  except  ours!" 

They  went  to  the  ISToailles  and  got  rooms. 

Meanwhile  Derrick  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  instead  of  going  with  Cockayne  to  Cap 
Martin  he  would  return  to  Montreux  and  see 
the  Princess  again.  He  dreaded  seeing  her. 
He  knew  that  their  meeting  could  only  be  a 
[199] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

horrible  one,  but  something  irresistible  drew 
him  back  to  Switzerland  and  to  her.  Perhaps 
it  was  something  in  the  heart  which  he  did  not 
comprehend;  or,  perhaps,  it  was  something  in 
the  brain,  the  insatiable  curiosity  of  man  who 
is  driven  by  the  deep  desire  to  understand,  to 
unravel  hidden  motives,  to  discover  the  springs 
of  actions  which  have  affected,  which  continue 
to  affect,  his  happiness.  Derrick  said  nothing 
of  all  this  to  Cockayne.  He  did  not  mean  to 
leave  Marseilles  immediately.  He  would  stay 
with  Cockayne  till  the  latter  went  on  to  the 
Riviera.  In  those  two  or  three  days  he  would 
have  time  to  consider  how  he  intended  to  act 
when  he  met  the  Princess ;  he  would  have  time 
also  for  a  little  rest,  which  he  felt  that  he 
needed  badly  after  the  travelling  and  the  men- 
tal turmoil  of  the  preceding  days. 

That  day  Cockayne  and  he  drove  over  to  the 
Corniche  and  lunched  at  the  restaurant  of  La 
Reserve  which  overlooks  the  sea.  Then  they 
took  a  long  walk  along  the  coast  and  returned 
to  Marseilles  on  foot.  On  arriving  at  their 
hotel  they  heard  casually  that  the  Ophir  had 
just  arrived  in  the  harbour. 

[200] 


CHAPTER  XII 

ON  the  following  day  Derrick  asked  Cockayne 
how  long  he  intended  to  stay  in  Marseilles. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say?"  his  friend  asked. 
"This  hotel  isn't  bad,  and  I  find  the  place  very 
amusing.  I've  known  Marseilles  for  more 
years  than  I  can  count,  but  I've  never  known  it 
like  this.  Last  night,  after  dinner,  when  you'd 
gone  up  to  bed,  I  wandered  about  for  over  two 
hours  and  took  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  after- 
the-War  conditions  here." 

"I  hope  you  were  satisfied?" 

"My  dear  chap,  I  received  education.  And 
that's  what  we  are  here  for." 

"In  Marseilles  do  you  mean?" 

"No,  in  this  life.  I  propose  to  get  a  little 
more  education  here  if  you  have  no  objection?" 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

There  was  a  silence.    Then  Cockayne  said, 

"Perhaps  you  are  longing  for  the  pine  woods 
of  Cap  Martin?" 

"Well— no.  To  tell  you  the  truth  I  think  I 
[201] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

shall  have  to  make  some  change  in  my  plans. 
I  believe  I  shall  have  to  go  back  from  here  to 
Montreux." 

"You  are  going  to  fetch  your  friends?" 

"My  friends?" 

"The  Russian  Princess  and  the  Baroness 
from  the  Baltic  Provinces  about  whom  you 
talked  to  me." 

"Oh  no!  They  won't  be  coming  to  Cap 
Martin." 

Cockayne  lit  a  cigarette. 

"You'll  come  on  there  from  Montreux?" 
he  said,  carelessly. 

"I  really  don't  know.  I — I  don't  want  to 
let  you  down  after  promising  to  come.  But 
my  plans  have  all  been — I  mean  that — well* 
Cockayne,  something  happened  in  Paris  which 
has  thrown  me  out  of  gear." 

Of  course.  I  knew  that.  I  only  wish  I 
could  do  something,  help  you  in  some  way. 
But  I  suppose  that's  impossible." 

"It's  good  of  you.  You're  a  good  friend. 
But  you  can't  do  anything.  The  thing's  done, 
and  unluckily  it's  irreparable." 

"Then  take  a  strong  pull  on  yourself.    Put 
it  behind  you.    Forget  it." 
[202] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"I  can't  do  that  yet.  Some  day,  perhaps — 
but  not  yet." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  curious,  but  do  you  think 
that  going  back  to  Montreux  will  help  you  to 
forget  it?" 

"I  don't  say  that.    But  I  feel  I  must  go." 

"Then  there's  no  more  to  be  said.  I  shall  be 
awfully  sorry  to  lose  your  company,  but  that's 
a  mere  detail.  I  dare  say  you  want  to  be  off  at 
once?" 

Derrick  hesitated.    Then  he  said : 

"No.  I  suppose  you'll  only  be  here  for  a 
couple  of  days  or  so  ?" 

"Something  like  that." 

"Well,  I'll  go  when  you  do.  I  think  that's 
the  best  arrangement." 

"Right!  And,  my  dear  fellow,  remember 
that  there  are  very  few  things  in  life  which 
leave  a  permanent  wound,  and  that  mere  scars 
may  look  ugly  but  they  don't  hurt  us,  even 
when  the  weather  changes.  We  'get  over' 
practically  everything  that  doesn't  send  us  into 
the  grave  straight  away.  Nature  is  very  ac- 
commodating." 

"Oh,  this  thing  won't  break  me.  I'm  not 
afraid  of  that.  But — well,  it's  no  use  talking 
[203] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

about  it.  To  tell  the  truth,  what  I  really  fear 
is  losing  all  faith  in  human  nature.  That  dries 
a  man  up.  I  dare  say  you  think  me  a  fearful 
sentimentalist  at  my  age  talking  like  this.  But 
I  expect  a  great  many  people  are  thinking  as 
I  am  just  now.  The  War's  been  a  bad  shock, 
but  some  of  us  have  looked  forward  to  a 
finer  humanity  coming  out  of  it.  If,  on  the 
contrary,  we  find  humanity  the  worse  for  the 
War,  what  on  earth  have  we  to  live  for?  You 
are  studying  Marseilles.  You  find  it  changed. 
Is  the  change  for  the  better?'* 

"Good  heavens,  no!" 

"And  you  are  amused?" 

"Interested  at  any  rate." 

"I'm  the  type  that  gets  disgusted,  I'm 
afraid." 

"I've  a  rough  philosophy  that  helps  me  a 
lot." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Hang  on  to  the  best  in  yourself  and  let  all 
the  rest  go  hang." 

Derrick  stood  still  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
shook  his  friend's  hand. 

"I'll  go  out  and  think  that  over,"  he  said. 

He  went  out  and  took  a  long  walk  through 
[204] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


the  crowded  streets  of  Marseilles.  Finally,  he 
went  down  to  the  harbour  and  strolled  by  the 
edge  of  the  sea.  The  day  was  fine  and  the  sun 
was  out.  Numbers  of  ships  big  and  small  were 
lying  at  anchor.  People  were  putting  off  for 
the  Chateau  d'If.  Fishermen  were  coming 
ashore  brown  and  hairy,  and  smelling  of  the 
salty  waters.  Conjurers  were  performing  in 
the  midst  of  small  circles  of  the  curious.  A 
humpbacked  dwarf  and  a  woman  in  tights 
were  doing  acrobatic  feats.  And  everywhere 
rough  men  of  all  nations,  the  hardy  travellers 
and  adventurers  of  the  world,  were  taking 
their  ease  in  the  sunshine,  lounging  along  the 
water's  edge,  pipe  in  mouth,  sitting  in  groups 
before  the  shabby  cafes,  playing  cards,  drink- 
ing soup  or  mysterious  liquids,  swearing,  spit- 
ting, quarrelling,  larking.  Among  them  were 
many  yellow  men  with  melancholy  eyes,  small- 
boned  limbs  and  thin  faces;  there  were  Arabs 
too,  Negroes,  Kabyles,  Sudanese.  Half  the 
nations  of  the  earth  seemed  to  be  assembled  in 
this  port  of  France.  Derrick  felt  vaguely  de- 
tached and  almost  confused  as  he  made  his  way 
slowly  through  the  throng. 
[205] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"Hold  on  to  the  best  in  yourself  and  let  all 
the  rest  go  hang!" 

What  else,  after  all,  could  one  do?  It  was 
absurd  to  concern  oneself  about  the  myriads  of 
men,  to  bother  about  them  collectively.  How, 
indeed,  could  one  ever  be  sure  whether  in  the 
mass  they  were  deterioriating,  or  progressing, 
however  slowly  and  almost  imperceptibly, 
upon  the  upward  path? 

Some  Lascars  went  by.  Derrick  thought  of 
the  Ophir,  that  great  ship  bound  for  the  Far 
East  for  which  so  many  travellers  had  been 
waiting. 

He  wondered  where  she  was  berthed  and 
thought  he  would  like  to  have  a  look  at  her. 
Why  was  that?  He  wondered  for  a  moment 
what  could  have  given  rise  to  such  a  desire  in 
him.  And  then  he  remembered  the  Princess's 
allusions  to  Asia.  She  had  wished  to  go  to 
India  and  had  expressed  her  wish  to  him  more 
than  once.  The  Ophir  to-morrow,  or  the  next 
day,  very  soon  at  any  rate,  would  slip  out  on 
the  high  road  to  the  land  she  must  often  have 
dreamed  about,  or  perhaps  brooded  over,  in 
those  rooms  furnished  with  cushions  in  Mon- 
treux. 

[206] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


A  sturdy  seafaring  man,  evidently  British, 
came  towards  Derrick,  pipe  in  mouth,  hands 
in  pockets. 

"Good-day!  Can  you  tell  me  where  the 
Ophir  is  berthed?"  Derrick  said,  going  up  to 
him. 

"Keep  straight  on,  go  to  the  right,  and  you'll 
find  her  about  a  hundred  yards  before  you 
come  to  the  quay  the  Algiers  boats  clear  from." 

"Thank  you.    When  does  she  sail?" 

"Noon  to-morrow." 

The  sailor  walked  on,  rolling  slightly  in  his 
gait,  and  Derrick  continued  on  his  way. 

He  had  a  good  look  at  the  Ophir.  She  was 
a  great  ship  and  seemed  in  good  trim.  The 
gang-plank  was  down  to  the  quay.  Some  sail- 
ors and  Lascars  were  moving  about  on  the 
checks.  A  man  with  bare  arms  was  polishing 
the  glasses  of  portholes  with  a  handful  of 
grimy  rags.  A  young  officer  paced  to  and  fro 
on  the  bridge,  looking  warily  this  way  and 
that.  But  no  passengers  were  visible.  Prob- 
ably they  had  all  gone  ashore.  And  those  who 
had  been  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  Ophir  in 
Marseilles  had  not  come  aboard  yet.  Derrick 
stared  at  the  gang-plank  and  thought  of  Prin- 
[207] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

cess  Aranensky.  So  many  things  made  his 
thoughts  go  to  her !  He  remembered  their  talk 
about  Asia,  and  her  words,  "I  often  feel  Asia 
within  me."  They  had  been  in  the  snow  to- 
gether when  she  had  said  that.  The  day  was 
declining,  the  mists  were  coming  down  and  the 
light  was  fading  about  them.  It  was  their  first 
conversation  together,  continued  after  the 
lunch  at  the  cold  little  hotel.  And  she  had 
spoken  of  Doctor  Steiner  and  of  the  mask  be- 
neath which  all  realities  are  concealed  from 
men.  She  had  said  that  as  the  real  physiog- 
nomy of  the  world  is  hidden  behind  the  moun- 
tains and  seas,  the  desert  sands  and  the  sun- 
sets, so  men  and  women  are  hidden  behind  their 
words  and  their  actions. 

But  was  that  true?  Had  not  the  Princess 
revealed  herself,  stripped  her  character  bare, 
and  shown  it  naked  to  him  by  her  action  when 
she  sold  him  false  pearls  as  real  ones?  Or  was 
the  real  woman  still  hidden  from  him,  with  all 
the  true  lights  and  the  shadows?  He  had 
thought  her  sincere  and  had  cared  for  her. 
Now  he  believed  her  false — and — yes — he  still 
cared  for  her  against  his  judgment,  his  will. 
But  though  he  believed  her  to  have  been  false 
[208] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


to  him,  did  he  know  her  whole  and  complete, 
just  as  she  was?  He  did  not.  And  that  was 
why  he  would  go  to  Montreux  and  try  to  see 
her  again.  He  would  not  come  upon  her  as  a 
judge.  He  would  come  upon  her  as  a  man 
who  knew  the  worst  of  her,  and  who  would  de- 
mand to  know  the  rest.  Something  told  him 
that  he  had  not  yet  discovered  what  was  the 
mainspring  of  her  detestable  action.  She  had 
needed  money.  Yes.  But  that  was  not  the 
whole  explanation  of  her  conduct.  He  won- 
dered about  her  religious  views.  They  were 
strange.  He  was  sure  of  that.  He  wondered 
about  her  physical  life,  remembering  a  ques- 
tion of  Cockayne's.  And  he  gazed  vaguely  at 
the  great  ship. 

A  young  Englishman  came  up  behind  him 
and  said: 

"Are  you  sailing  with  us,  sir?" 

Derrick  started  and  turned. 

"No!"  he  said,  looking  hard  at  the  man. 

"I  thought  you  might  be  as  you  were  taking 
such  a  long  look  at  the  ship." 

"No.    Are  you  one  of  the  crew?" 

"I'm  a  steward,  sir.    I've  been  on  leave  in 
the  town." 

[209] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"Have  a  cigarette?" 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"I  rather  wish  I  were  coming  with  you.  Is 
your  passenger  list  full?" 

"Jam  full,  sir.  The  last  really  good  cabin 
was  taken  by  telegram  only  a  couple  of  days 
ago,  I  heard  say.  We've  got  a  princess  com- 
ing aboard." 

"A  princess!"  said  Derrick. 

"Oh,  not  a  British  princess,  sir,  nothing  of 
that  kind.  This  one's  a  Russian,  I  believe. 
Anyhow,  I  know  I'm  going  to  look  after  her 
with  the  stewardess." 

"Oh — a  Russian  princess!"  said  Derrick. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  quite  still.  He 
glanced  almost  furtively  at  the  man  and  looked 
away  again.  It  was,  surely,  very  unlikely, 
very  improbable,  and  yet — it  was  possible. 
Yes,  it  was  horribly  possible! 

A  pulse  in  his  forehead  beat  violently,  and 
he  felt  as  if  a  wave  of  hot  blood  flooded  his 
brain,  submerged  it  for  a  moment,  drowning 
his  power  of  thought. 

The  steward,  a  young,  quick-witted  man, 
looked  at  him  almost  inquisitively. 

"Those  Russians,  I  believe,  breed  more  prin- 
[210] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


cesses  than  we  do,  as  I  may  say,  sir,  but  they 
seem  to  be  giving  them  toko  over  there — the 
Bolshies,  I  mean.  So  I  s'pose  them  as  can  are 
clearing  out  of  the  country." 

"No  doubt.  And  what  is  this  princess's 
name?" 

"That's  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  sir.  It's 
down  on  the  list,  but  I  haven't  troubled  to  read 
it.  Only  I  was  told  as  I  was  going  to  attend 
on  her." 

"Ah!    Well,  I  must  be  off.    Good-day!" 

"Good-day,  sir." 

Derrick  walked  away  for  a  few  steps,  then 
abruptly  turned;  the  steward  was  still  there, 
and  had  evidently  been  looking  after  him. 
Derrick  came  back  and  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket. 

"Look  here!"  he  said.  "I  suppose  it  isn't 
against  rules  for  you  to  tell  me  the  name  of  a 
passenger  on  board  of  your  ship.  Go  and  find 
out  for  me  the  name  of  the  princess  who  is  sail- 
ing with  you  to-morrow,  and  here  is "  He 

stopped  short. 

The  young  officer  on  the  bridge  was  observ- 
ing him. 

"I'll  walk  straight  on  along  the  quay.  Come 
[211] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

and  tell  me  the  name,  and  I'll  give  you  fifty 
francs." 

And  he  walked  slowly  away  down  the  quay 
till  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the  Ophir.  Then  he 
stood  still  and  waited.  The  fellow  had  not 
answered,  had  not  said  he  would  come,  but  it 
was  worth  while  to  wait.  If  he  did  not  come — 
well,  then,  Derrick  would  find  some  other 
means  of  discovering  whether  the  suspicion 
which  had  sprung  up  in  his  mind  was  well 
founded  or  not.  He  would  go  on  board  the 
OpMr  on  some  pretext.  Anyhow,  he  would 
not  go  back  to  the  Hotel  de  Noailles  until  he 
knew  the  name  of  the  princess  who  was  sailing 
on  the  Ophir  to-morrow. 

After  waiting  for  about  ten  minutes  he  saw 
the  steward  coming  towards  him,  and  he  drew 
out  his  portfolio  and  took  out  fifty  francs. 
The  steward  came  up  and  handed  him  a  small 
piece  of  paper. 

"Sorry  to  keep  you  so  long,  sir,  but  it  took  a 
bit  of  a  time  to  go  over  the  list.  I  wrote  the 
name  down  for  you  on  a  piece  of  paper,  as  it's 
foreign,  and  I  might  have  forgot  it." 

"Very  good  of  you.     Thanks  very  much." 

Derrick  did  not  look  at  the  name,  but  put 
[212] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


the  piece  of  paper  into  his  pocket  and  handed 
the  man  the  fifty  francs. 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"I  wish  you  a  good  voyage,"  said  Derrick. 
"Good-day!" 

He  was  just  about  to  go  when  an  idea  oc- 
curred to  him,  and  he  stopped. 

"By  the  way,  is  this  lady,  the  princess, 
travelling  alone?" 

"I  couldn't  say,  sir.  All  I  know  is  she's  got 
a  cabin  to  herself." 

"Oh !    Well,  good-bye  and  good  luck." 

This  time  Derrick  walked  on  and  did  not 
stop  for  any  last  words.  But  as  soon  as  he 
had  got  away  from  the  quay,  and  was  in  a 
broad  dirty  street,  between  the  vast  arid  dingy 
houses  with  shuttered  windows  which  are  char- 
acteristic of  Marseilles,  he  paused  and  drew 
out  the  bit  of  paper  which  the  steward  had 
given  him.  On  it  was  carefully  written  in 
round  hand,  "PRINCESS  AEANENSKY." 

So  it  was  she! 

He  thrust  the  bit  of  paper  again  into  his 

pocket  and  walked  slowly  on.    The  street  was 

thronged  with  people  and  traffic  coming  from 

and  going  to  the  quays,  but  he  scarcely  noticed 

[213] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

the  faces,  or  heard  the  voices,  the  rumbling  of 
the  wheels,  the  hooting  of  the  horns  of  the 
motors.  He  was  absorbed  by  the  knowledge 
that  this  woman,  whom  he  had  meant  to  seek 
out  in  Montreux,  was  here  with  him  in  this 
city,  was  actually  in  Marseilles.  To-morrow 
she  would  be  on  her  way  to  the  Far  East, 
would  be  travelling  away  from  him,  would  per- 
haps be  removed  from  his  life  forever.  But 
for  the  succeeding  twenty  four  hours  she  was 
near  him,  was  possibly  even  in  the  same  hotel 
with  him.  Of  course,  he  had  no  positive 
knowledge  that  she  was  yet  in  Marseilles,  but 
he  did  not  doubt  it.  The  Opliir  had  been  ex- 
pected to  arrive  before  she  had  come  into  port, 
and  many  travellers  were  waiting  in  Marseilles 
to  go  away  in  her.  Among  those  travellers  was 
certainly  the  Princess.  And  Baroness  Hausen? 
Was  she  there  too?  He  wondered.  And  now 
as  he  walked  he  scrutinized  the  faces  of  the 
women  who  passed  by  in  the  open  victorias  of 
Marseilles,  in  taxi-cabs  and  cars.  At  any 
moment  the  princess  might  pass  him.  If  she 
did,  and  it  were  at  all  possible,  he  intended  to 
stop  her.  If  he  did  see  her,  did  stop  her,  he 
did  not  know  how  he  would  act,  what  he  would 
[214] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


say  to  her.  But  he  would  act  as  impulse  di- 
rected him  to  act.  And  if  he  did  not  meet 
her  in  the  crowded  streets  he  would  inquire 
for  her  at  the  various  hotels.  She  must  be  in 
a  hotel.  And  there  were  only  three  or  four 
which  she  would  choose  to  put  up  in,  his  own 
hotel,  the  Louvre  et  de  la  Paix,  the  Regina,  the 
Grand  Hotel — or  perhaps  La  Reserve.  There 
were  a  few  bedrooms  at  the  Reserve  above  the 
restaurant.  It  was  very  quiet  and  very  sunny 
there.  She  might  be  there. 

A  few  more  steps  brought  Derrick  in  front 
of  the  Hotel  Regina,  and  he  turned  in  to  in- 
quire if  the  Princess  were  there.  After  look- 
ing through  the  list  the  director  said  no,  there 
was  no  one  of  that  name  in  the  hotel. 

Derrick  went  on,  passed  the  Turkish  Baths, 
and  eventually  came  into  the  Cannebiere. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  close  upon 
half -past  twelve.  Cockayne  would  be  expect- 
ing him  for  dejeuner.  He  would  inquire  later 
on  at  the  other  hotels,  and  if  he  did  not  find  the 
Princess  at  any  of  them,  he  would  drive  out  to 
the  Reserve. 

He  found  Cockayne  in  the  hall,  and  they 
went  at  once  into  the  restaurant  to  lunch. 
[215] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

An  orchestra  was  playing  and  many  people 
were  sitting  at  the  little  tables.  Derrick 
looked  at  everyone  there  slowly,  deliberately, 
lest  he  should  miss  one. 

"You  seem  interested  in  the  crowd,"  said 
Cockayne.  "Are  you  looking  for  anyone?' 

"Yes."    Derrick  said. 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  friends  in  Mar- 
seilles." 

"I  find  there  is  someone  staying  here  whom 
I  know,  but  it  may  not  be  in  this  hotel." 

"Well,  shall  we  lunch  'a  prix  fixe*  or  'a  la 
carte'?" 

The  Princess  was  not  in  the  restaurant,  and 
she  did  not  come  in  during  their  lunch.  When 
it  was  finished  they  went  to  have  coffee  in  the 
hall. 

Derrick  had  talked  very  little  during  lunch. 
He  knew  that  Cockayne  must  have  noticed  his 
preoccupation.  Cockayne  was  by  nature  a  close 
observer,  and  Derrick's  perturbation  of  mind 
jumped  to  the  eye.  Derrick  was  quite  aware 
of  that.  But  the  power  of  acting  seemed  to 
have  been  withdrawn  from  him.  He  no  longer 
cared  what  his  friend  thought.  Indeed,  there 
were  moments  when  he  was  strongly  tempted 
[216] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


without  mentioning  names  to  tell  Cockayne  the 
whole  story,  even  up  to  the  point  of  his  finding 
out  that  the  woman  who  had  swindled  him 
must  be  here  in  Marseilles,  perhaps  even  in 
the  hotel  with  them.  But  he  had  already  de- 
scribed the  Princess  and  Baroness  Hausen  to 
Cockayne.  The  latter  would  guess  at  once 
that  the  matter  of  the  pearls  was  connected 
with  the  two  women  he  had  talked  about,  the 
two  Russians.  And  if  Cockayne  did  guess — 
what  did  that  matter?  Did  Derrick  owe  it  to 
such  a  woman  as  Princess  Aranensky  to  be 
silent  about  her  misdoings?  If  he  did  tell  the 
story  to  Cockayne  why  should  he  conceal  her 
name?" 

"What  shall  we  do  this  afternoon?"  said 
Cockayne. 

"Well,  I  may  have  to  go  to  the  Reserve  pos- 
sibly," Derrick  answered. 

His  friend  looked  slightly  surprised. 

"But  before  then,"  Derrick  added,  "I  must 
just  look  in  at  one  or  two  of  the  principal 
hotels  to  inquire  for  someone." 

"Then  probably  you'd  rather  be  quite  free 
for  the  afternoon." 

[217] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  best.  I  may  have  to 
see  someone." 

After  a  moment  he  added: 

"I  say,  Cockayne,  you  must  think  me  an  in- 
fernally tiresome  fellow,  giving  myself  airs  of 
mystery.  But  the  fact  is  I've  discovered  quite 
by  chance  this  morning  that  in  all  probability 
the  person  who  gave  me  the  'facer'  I  mentioned 
to  you  in  Paris  is  here  in  Marseilles." 

"That's  an  odd  coincidence." 

"Yes." 

"And  you  want  to  find  out  where  he  is?" 

Derrick  looked  quickly  at  Cockayne,  recog- 
nized his  tact  and  looked  away. 

"Yes." 

"Then  I'll  leave  you  quite  free.  And  we'll 
meet  at  dinner-time,  shall  we?" 

"Perhaps  that's  best.  I  fear  I'm  a  bad  com- 
panion." 

"My  dear  fellow,  you're  in  trouble !  I  don't 
know,  and  don't  want  to  know,  exactly  what  it 
is.  That's  not  my  affair.  But  wouldn't  it  be 
better  to  be  quite  drastic?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  cut  the  painter  and 
let  the  boat  go  into  the  darkness?" 
[218] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"The  boat!  But  do  you — of  course  you're 
speaking  in  metaphors.  What  a  fool  I  am  to- 
day! One  thing  I  can  tell  you.  By  to-morrow 
I'm  sure  Fate  will  have  cut  the  painter.  But 
I  have  something  to  do  before  then." 

"Right!  I'll  be  here  at  seven  and  wait  for 
you.  Till  then  I'm  non-existent." 

"By  seven  I'll  be  here  for  certain." 

They  parted,  and  Derrick  went  straight  to 
the  bureau,  and  asked  whether  a  Princess  Ara- 
nensky  was  staying  in  the  hotel. 

"No,  m'sieu,"  said  the  hall-porter. 

"Are  you  quite  certain?"  said  Derrick,  and 
he  repeated  the  name. 

"If  you  like  I'll  inquire,  m'sieu,  but  I  don't 
think  the  lady  is  staying  here." 

He  went  away,  and  came  back  in  three  or 
four  minutes. 

"No,  m'sieu,  the  Princess  is  not  staying 
here.  You  will  find  her  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre 
et  de  la  Paix.  It  seems  she  telegraphed  both 
here  and  to  the  Louvre  for  rooms  from  Swit- 
zerland. But  she  has  gone  to  the  Louvre." 

"Thanks.  Do  you  happen  to  know  what 
day  she  arrived  in  Marseilles?" 

"I  couldn't  say  for  certain,  m'sieu.  There 
[219] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

are  so  many  coining  and  going.  But  if  you 
wish  I  can  try  to  find  out." 

"No,  no.    It  doesn't  matter,  thank  you." 

What  did  it  matter  what  day  the  Princess 
had  arrived  in  Marseilles?  She  was  there. 
That  was  what  mattered.  He  had  only  to 
cross  the  street,  walk  a  few  yards,  and  he  would 
reach  her  hotel. 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out. 

It  was  just  after  two  o'clock,  not  an  ortho- 
dox hour  for  calling,  but  a  very  likely  hour  for 
finding  a  woman  at  home.  Derrick  went 
straight  to  the  Hotel  du  Louvre  and  asked  at 
the  bureau  for  Princess  Aranensky. 

"What  name,  sir?"  said  the  man  at  the 
bureau. 

Derrick  hesitated.  It  had  not  occurred  to 
him  that,  of  course,  he  would  have  to  send  up 
his  name  before  being  admitted  to  see  any 
guest  in  the  vast  hotel.  Yet  if  he  did  send  up 
his  name,  surely  the  Princess  would  refuse  to 
see  him.  Or  would  she  refuse?  She  could  not 
know  why  he  was  in  Marseilles  or  what  had 
happened  in  Paris.  She  could  not  know  thai 
he  knew  about  the  pearls.  And  even  if  she 
guessed  that,  or  feared  it,  or  was  in  complete 
[220] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


uncertainty  about  it,  she  might  have  the  cour- 
age to  face  him. 

He  had  never  actually  tested  her  courage, 
Nevertheless,  he  believed  in  it  instinctively. 
Even  now  that  he  knew  of  what  she  was 
capable  he  could  not  think  of  her  as  a  possible 
coward. 

Anyhow,  if  he  wished  to  see  her  he  must  give 
his  name. 

"Mr.  Derrick  Merton,"  he  said.  "Is  the 
Princess  in?" 

"I  couldn't  say,  sir.  If  you  will  give  me 
your  card  I  will  send  up  a  boy." 

Derrick  pulled  out  his  card-case.  In  doing 
this  he  noticed  that  his  hand  shook  slightly.  He 
tried  to  keep  it  steady  as  he  gave  the  card  to 
the  man  in  the  bureau. 

"If  you  will  sit  down,  m'sieu,  I  will  have  the 
card  sent  up  at  once." 

Derrick  found  a  seat  in  the  hall,  and  picked 
up  a  paper.  He  saw  a  boy  in  livery  take  his 
card,  look  at  it,  and  go  away  with  it  towards 
the  staircase  of  the  hotel. 

Suddenly  he  felt  that  this  was  one  of  the 
most  intolerable  moments  of  his  life.  A 
strange  and  ridiculous  feeling  of  guilt  took 
[221] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

possession  of  him.  He  had  been  grossly  in- 
jured, yet  at  the  thought  of  perhaps  confront- 
ing in  a  moment  the  woman  who  had  inflicted 
the  injury  he  was  possessed  by  a  sense  as  of 
shame.  He  dreaded  the  thought  of  meeting 
the  Princess's  eyes;  he  dreaded  the  thought  of 
being  shut  up  alone  with  her.  And  if  he  were 
not  alone  with  her? 

Probably  she  had  not  a  sitting-room  here  in 
this  hotel  de  passage.  In  that  case  they  would 
have  to  meet,  if  they  met,  in  public,  in  this  hall, 
perhaps,  or  in  one  of  the  rooms  opening  out  of 
it.  He  looked  round  furtively  and  saw  strang- 
ers everywhere,  reading,  smoking,  or  simply 
sitting  and  staring  hard  at  everyone  who  came 
into  or  went  out  of  the  hall.  Some  of  them 
were  staring  at  him. 

The  boy  was  away  for  a  very  long  time.  But 
the  hotel  was  large,  with  long  corridors  and 
many  rooms.  And  servants,  Derrick  remem- 
bered, are  seldom  allowed  the  use  of  the  lifts. 
The  boy  was  bound  to  be  a  long  time. 

Having  nothing  to  do,  and  being  unable  to 

fix  his  attention  upon  the  paper  he  had  taken 

up,  Derrick  looked  at  the  people  coming  and 

going  in  the  hall  of  the  hotel,  and  wondered 

[222] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


now  and  then  vaguely  about  them;  wondered 
who  and  what  they  were,  why  they  looked  anx- 
ious or  self-satisfied,  what  were  their  profes- 
sions, where  they  lived,  where  they  were  going, 
how  their  lives  were  passed.  All  the  time  he 
was  doing  this  he  was  secretly  trying  to  com- 
bat his  concealed  agitation,  to  brace  himself  for 
the  interview  which  perhaps  lay  before  him. 
He  had  made  no  plan  of  conduct;  he  was  un- 
able to  make  one  now;  but  he  strove  to  pull 
himself  together,  to  banish  his  absurd  sense  of 
shame.  And  at  the  same  time  he  looked  at  the 
travellers  and  gave  an  edge  of  his  mind  to 
them. 

But  presently,  just  for  one  moment,  his  at- 
tention was  riveted. 

A  man  appeared  in  the  hall.  He  was  alone, 
and  came,  apparently,  from  the  inner  part  of 
the  hotel  where  the  lift  and  the  staircase  were, 
for  Derrick  first  saw  him  standing  very  near 
the  place  where  the  boy  had  gone  off  with  the 
card  for  the  Princess. 

This  man  was  about  thirty-eight,  or  perhaps 
forty  years  old,  and  looked  wasted,  not  with 
ill-health  but  with  thought.  There  was  some- 
thing almost  terrifically  mental  about  his  ap- 
[223] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

pearance.  Derrick  thought  of  it  as  a  glare  of 
mind.  But  this  glare  of  mind  was  strangely 
mingled  with  something  else,  something  in- 
tensely physical  and  almost  barbarous,  which 
might  either  attract  or  repel,  as  the  intensity 
of  an  animal  may  either  attract  or  repel.  The 
man  was  thin,  large  boned,  gaunt  and  not  much 
under  six  feet  in  height,  with  thick  yellow- 
brown  hair  and  a  quite  yellow  beard  and 
moustache.  His  face  was  pale,  with  a  bony 
structure  which  was  very  apparent  and  marked 
cheek  bones.  His  lips  were  large  and  the 
teeth  large  and  very  white  and  regular.  Upon 
the  bossy  forehead  there  was  the  stamp  of 
thought.  It  was  the  forehead  of  a  deep  and 
persistent  thinker,  of  one  who  often  drowned 
himself  and  sank  down  out  of  reach  in  thought. 
The  eyes  were  yellow  brown,  exceptionally 
large,  long  in  shape,  and  glittering  with  light, 
with  energy,  and  with  determination. 

"A  marvellously  interesting  man!"  Derrick 
thought,  as  he  looked  at  him.  "And  perhaps  a 
marvellous  brute  too.  A  fierce  mind  in  a  fierce 
body!" 

The  man  lifted  a  large  thin  hand,  pulled  at 
his  yellow  beard,  then  walked  down  the  hall. 
[224] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


He  had  seen  an  unused  writing-table.  He 
went  to  it  and  sat  down  at  it  with  his  back  to- 
wards Derrick.  And  just  then  the  boy  who 
had  taken  Derrick's  card  came  back. 

"Madame,  the  Princess,  has  gone  out." 

"You  are  sure?"  said  Derrick. 

"She  isn't  there,"  said  the  boy. 

He  held  out  the  card.  Derrick  took  it,  and 
went  again  to  the  bureau. 

"I'll  come  back  later  on  and  see  if  I  can  find 
the  Princess,"  he  said  to  the  man  there.  "Prin- 
cess Aranensky." 

"Bien,  m'sieu!" 

"She  is  leaving  to-morrow,  I  understand." 

"Madame  la  Princess  sails  for  India  on  the 
Ophir  to-morrow." 

"I'll  call  again  this  evening." 

"Bien,  m'sieu!"  said  the  man,  with  supreme 
indifference. 

Derrick  left  the  hotel. 

All  the  afternoon  he  walked  about  Mar- 
seilles. He  had  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  Grand  Cafe, 
smoked  a  cigar,  and  when  darkness  had  fallen 
went  once  more  to  the  Hotel  du  Louvre. 

He  did  not,  of  course,  know  whether  the 
Princess  had  been  in  when  he  had  called,  and 
[225] 


had  refused  to  see  him,  or  whether  she  had 
really  been  out.  He  had  no  means  of  ascer- 
taining that.  But  as  he  drew  near  to  the  hotel 
he  debated  with  himself  how  he  had  better  act 
this  time.  He  might  again  send  up  his  card 
and  again  be  told  that  the  Princess  was  out. 
In  that  case  he  could  say  he  would  wait  in 
the  hall  till  she  returned.  If  she  were  in  reality 
in  her  room  upstairs  that  would  be  useless. 
What  he  wanted  to  do  was  to  ascertain  for 
certain  whether  she  was  in  the  hotel  or  was 
not  in  it.  He  realized  for  the  first  time  what 
security  there  is  in  a  large  hotel  for  one  who 
does  not  wish  to  be  got  at  by  someone  from 
outside.  The  servants  have  a  code  of  discre- 
tion. There  is  no  means  of  forcing  the  doors. 

Or  is  there,  if  one  has  only  a  little  self-pos- 
session— or  call  it  impudence? 

It  struck  Derrick  that  he  might  get  at  the 
Princess  in  this  way:  he  might  go  into  the 
hotel,  avoiding  the  bureau  go  straight  to  the 
lift,  give  the  lift  attendant  a  big  tip,  and  say, 
"Take  me  up  to  the  sitting-room  of  the  Prin- 
cess Aranensky."  The  Princess  might  not  have 
•engaged  a  sitting-room.  In  that  case  the  ruse 
would  fail,  for  the  attendant  would  certainly 
[226] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


not  take  a  stranger  up  to  a  lady's  bedroom. 
But  if  by  chance  the  Princess  had  a  sitting- 
room  it  was  quite  possible  that  the  man  would 
pocket  the  tip  and  take  Derrick  up. 

Derrick  resolved  to  carry  out  this  plan. 

He  found  the  hall  of  the  hotel  more  crowded 
than  ever.  Travellers  were  arriving.  Lug- 
gage was  being  unloaded.  The  bureau  was 
bombarded  by  people  asking  questions  and 
trying  to  engage  rooms.  The  moment  could 
not  have  been  more  favourable.  Derrick  made/ 
his  way  to  the  lift,  which  was  luckily  empty. 
A  young  man  in  the  hotel  livery  stood  beside  it. 
Derrick  got  in. 

"Kindly  take  me  up  to  the  Princess  Ara- 
nensky's  sitting-room,"  he  said. 

The  man  looked  doubtful. 

"Is  Madame,  the  Princess,  expecting  mon- 
sieur?" he  asked. 

Derrick  held  out  ten  francs. 

"Yes.    The  Princess  is  expecting  me." 

The  young  man,  with  a  faint  understanding 
smile,  pocketed  the  bribe  and  the  lift  shot  up- 
ward. 


[227] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  lift  stopped  at  the  second  floor. 

"What  is  Princess  Aranensky's  number?" 
asked  Derrick. 

"The  sitting-room  is  number  HB,  m'sieu," 
said  the  young  man.  "Go  to  the  right.  It  is 
on  the  left  at  the  end  of  the  corridor." 

He  stepped  backwards  into  the  lift  and  shut 
the  ironwork  gate. 

Derrick  walked  slowly  down  the  right-hand 
corridor  till  he  was  in  front  of  the  door  which 
hid  from  him  the  Princess's  sitting-room. 
There  he  stopped. 

It  was  rather  dark  in  the  corridor,  and  for 
the  moment  there  was  no  one  in  it  except  him- 
self. In  the  distance  he  heard  a  slight  noise 
of  voices  talking  in  the  "service"  room  near  the 
stairs,  and  from  another  direction  came  the 
faint  sound  of  a  bath  "running."  He  lifted 
his  hand  and  rapped  on  the  door.  There  was 
no  answer.  And  for  a  moment  he  felt  a  sen- 
sation of  intense  relief.  Perhaps  the  room  was 
[228] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


untenanted ;  perhaps  the  Princess  was  out.  He 
heard  an  electric  bell,  then  the  sound  of  a  dress, 
and  saw  a  housemaid  hurrying  down  the  cor- 
ridor with  her  back  to  him.  Immediately  he 
knocked  again  at  the  door.  This  time  a  voice 
answered. 

"Entrez!"  it  said.    "Entrez!" 

It  was  the  Princess's  voice.  Derrick  drew 
in  his  breath  and  opened  the  door. 

He  saw  a  rather  large  and  banal  room  com- 
fortably furnished,  and  with  a  door  at  one  end 
leading  into  another  room.  This  door  was 
half  open.  Red  curtains  were  drawn.  The 
electric  lights  were  turned  on.  A  small  fire 
was  lit  in  the  grate.  About  the  room  there 
were  strewn  cushions  and  books  and  maga- 
zines. There  were  also  several  vases  full  of 
roses  and  violets.  A  large  red  sofa  was  drawn 
up  near  the  fire.  Its  gaudy  colour  was  par- 
tially hidden  by  a  piece  of  black  and  gold 
oriental  embroidery  worked  with  dull  red  and 
blue  flowers.  Upon  this  sofa,  with  a  book  in 
her  hand,  and  her  head  on  a  dark-blue  cushion, 
Princess  Aranensky  was  lying  in  a  closely  fit- 
ting black  travelling  dress. 

When  Derrick  came  in  the  book  fell  out  of 
[229] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

her  hand  and  dropped  on  the  floor.  For  a 
moment  she  did  not  speak,  nor  did  he.  Then 
she  pushed  herself  up  on  the  sofa.  A  dull  flush 
of  red  showed  for  an  instant  in  her  rather 
rough-hewn  face  and  faded  away. 

"You  here  in  Marseilles!"  she  said. 

He  knew  then  that  she  had  been  out  when 
he  had  called  before  and  that  she  had  not  heard 
of  his  visit. 

"But  how "  she  added,  and  stopped. 

She  got  up  slowly. 

"But  how  did  you  know  I  was  here?  How 
did  you  find  my  room?" 

"The  lift-man  brought  me  up  and  told  me 
your  number." 

"Yes?" 

She  waited,  but  Derrick  said  nothing  more. 
Then  she  held  out  her  hand.  Mechanically  he 
put  his  into  it.  At  that  moment  it  occurred  to 
him  that  she  could  not  know  what  he  had  done 
in  Paris  about  the  pearls,  and,  therefore,  could 
not  know  that  he  had  discovered  her  deception. 

"I  wish  to  stay  a  little  while,"  he  said,  with 
acute  embarrassment.  - 

"Of  course!    But  wait  a  moment!" 

She  went  to  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  room 
[230] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


and  passed  into  a  further  room,  no  doubt  her 
bedroom.  Meanwhile  Derrick  stood  on  the 
hearth  and  listened  to  the  noise  of  the  traffic 
in  the  Cannebiere.  His  eyes  fell  on  the  book 
the  Princess  had  dropped,  and  he  bent  down 
and  picked  it  up.  It  was  Steiner's  "An  Out- 
line of  Theosophy." 

He  laid  it  down  carefully  on  a  table  beside  a 
vase  of  roses. 

In  about  five  minutes  the  Princess  came 
back  and  shut  the  door  behind  her. 

"I  thought  you  had  gone  to  London,"  she 
said,  coming  up  to  him. 

"And  you  meant  to  leave  Europe  for  India 
without  letting  me  know  that  you  were  going!" 

"India!    You  know  that " 

"I  know  that  you  intend  to  sail  on  the  Ophir 
to-morrow." 

"Yes;  that's  true." 

"Wouldn't  it  have  been — what  shall  I  say — 
kinder  to  tell  me  that  before  I  left  Montreux?" 
he  said,  with  bitterness. 

Now  that  he  was  with  the  Princess,  now  that 

he  had  just  touched  her  and  was  close  to  her, 

looking  at  her,  feeling  her  atmosphere,  now 

that  he  was  standing  among  the  books  and 

[231] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

cushions  and  flowers  which  she  carried  about 
with  her,  or  bought  wherever  she  was,  a  hor- 
rible jealousy  and  almost  hatred  of  her  had 
suddenly  come  to  him.  It  was  terrible  to  care 
for  a  woman  who  swindled  you,  then  got  rid 
of  you,  and,  finally,  with  your  money,  pur- 
chased the  means  of  escaping  out  of  your  life 
without  giving  you  any  hint  of  her  intention. 
It  was  humiliating,  it  was  intolerable,  still  to 
have  any  feeling  for  such  a  woman.  Derrick 
wanted  to  look  upon  the  Princess  as  a  low 
creature,  a  disgraceful  adventuress,  a  woman 
only  fit  to  be  thrown  to  the  police.  But  he 
couldn't.  Everything  in  her  and  about  her 
forbade  that.  And  it  was  the  struggle  between 
his  appreciation  of  her  infamy  and  his  appre- 
ciation of  her  intense  and  painful  attraction 
for  him  which  caused  him  to  feel  so  bitter.  He 
was  rent  and  hated  himself,  and  her  for  having 
turned  him  into  this  tragic  enigma  of  a  man, 
this  thing  that  could  feel  fiercely  but  was  un- 
able to  understand  itself.  And  he  was  abom- 
inably jealous  of  the  woman,  the  flesh  and 
blood  human  being,  who  was  slipping  away 
from  him  into  the  shining  mystery  of  the  East, 
drawn  by  influences  which  he  knew  nothing  of, 
[232] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


which  she  meant  that  he  should  never  know 
anything  of. 

"Yes,  perhaps  it  would,"  she  answered.  "I 
don't  know.  There  are  ways  of  kindness  that 
are  easy  but  cruel  in  the  end.  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  it  was  better  to  go  as  I  intended  to 

go." 

"That  is  without  ever  seeing  me  again!" 

"Yes." 

She  had  not  asked  him  to  sit  down  but  now, 
perhaps  seeing  in  his  eyes  the  determination  of 
violent  feeling,  she  sat  down  and,  with  the  air 
of  almost  brooding  fatalism  which  he  had 
noticed  once  or  twice  at  Montreux,  said : 

"Since  you  are  here  and  have  found  me,  how 
I  don't  know  and  cannot  divine,  stay  for  a  little 
while.  We  have  been  much  together  in  the 
snows.  It  was  ordained  that  we  were  to  be 
together  again  here  on  the  edge  of  my  journey. 
Nothing  foretold  this  to  me.  But  it  had  to  be." 

He  sat  down. 

"Why  did  you  come  here?"  she  asked. 

She  stretched  out  her  hand.    He  now  saw  a 

bag  lying  on  a  table  near  her.     She  took  it, 

opened  it,  drew  out  a  case.    Things  repeated 

themselves  horribly.    He  remembered  the  first 

[233] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

time  he  had  seen  her  at  Montreux.    Now  here 
she  lit  a  cigarette  at  the  match  he  held. 

"I  was  on  my  way  to  Cap  Martin  with  a 
friend.  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  to  go  to 
London  in  winter.  I — I  thought  London 
could  very  well  wait!" 

As  he  was  vaguely  trying  to  give  her  a 
wrong  impression  he  did  not  look  at  her  while 
he  said  this. 

"And  you  saw  me  in  the  street?" 

He  felt  that  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  with 
intensity. 

"No." 

He  told  her  exactly  what  had  happened,  how 
he  had  gone  to  look  at  the  Ophir  and  the  epi- 
sode of  the  steward. 

"And  what  led  you  to  the  Ophir?"  she  asked. 

I  believe  it  was  what  you  once  said  to  me 
about  your  desire  to  go  to  India.  If  not  it  was 
mere  chance!" 

"It  certainly  was  not  mere  chance.  Then 
you  were  not  going  back  to  Montreux?" 

"Yes,  I  should  have  gone.    I  came  here  to 
go  to  Cap  Martin,  but  while  I  was  here  I  de- 
cided to  go  back  to  Montreux.    Of  course,  that 
was  before  I  knew  you  were  here." 
[234] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


She  was  silent,  and  sat  quite  still. 

"Is  Baroness  Hausen  with  you?"  he  asked. 

"Katya— no." 

"You  are  going  to  India  alone?" 

"Marguerite  will  accompany  me.  You  re- 
member— she  always  made  tea  for  us." 

"Marguerite — yes,  I  remember." 

She  had  spoken  as  if  it  were  a  very  long  time 
ago.  And  now  he  felt  that  indeed  it  was  long 
ago — the  short  period  of  their  intimate  friend- 
ship. A  sickness  of  the  heart  came  upon  him, 
a  sort  of  nausea  of  the  affections. 

"Is  Baroness  Hausen  still  in  Montreux?" 
he  asked  dully. 

"I  left  her  there." 

Again  a  silence  fell  between  them.  Derrick 
was  trying  to  force  himself  into  frankness. 
He  had  come  there  to  tell  the  Princess  that  he 
had  discovered  her  fraud.  And  now  he  was 
talking  vaguely  about  India,  and  asking  use- 
less questions  about  Baroness  Hausen. 

At  this  moment  the  bedroom  door  opened 
and  Marguerite  appeared  carrying  a  tray  with 
tea  things.  She  greeted  Derrick  with  a  smile, 
and  was  evidently  not  at  all  surprised  to  see 
him. 

[235] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"Put  the  tea  here,  Marguerite!"  said  the 
Princess,  indicating  a  table  close  to  where  she 
was  sitting. 

"Please  don't  have  it  for  me,"  said  Der- 
rick. 

"I  take  it  myself  at  this  hour." 
"Oh,  then— but  really  I  don't  want  it." 
He  felt  at  that  moment  that  if  he  had  tea 
once  again  with  this  extraordinary  woman  he 
might  falter  in  his  resolution  to  "have  it  out" 
with  her  about  the  pearls.  Although  he  knew 
that  his  money  would  pay  for  these  rooms, 
this  meal,  the  cabin  on  the  OpJiir,  all  the  ex- 
penses of  the  journey  and  perhaps  the  long 
residence  in  India,  the  preposterous  idea  was 
in  his  mind  that  he  could  not  break  bread  with 
this  woman  and  then  attack  her,  that  to  do 
that  would  be  disgraceful  on  his  part.  He 
knew  she  was  moral  riff-raff — her  own  expres- 
sion— but  somehow  he  could  not  feel  that  she 
was.  He  even  presently  began  to  wonder 
vaguely  again  whether  it  were  possible  that  she 
herself  had  been  deceived  about  the  pearls, 
whether  she  could  possibly  have  supposed  that 
they  were  genuine.  For  now  that  he  was  with 
her  once  more  it  seemed  incredible  that  she 
[236] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


could  be  a  subtle  swindler.  There  was  no  at- 
mosphere of  an  adventuress  about  her.  She 
now  seemed  quite  at  her  ease.  There  was 
nothing  abashed  in  her  face  or  manner,  nothing 
furtive  or  sly  in  her  demeanour. 

Could  she  have  not  known?  If  only  that 
were  so!  But  how  could  it  possibly  be? 

Marguerite  went  away  and  returned  with 
the  teapot  and  toast.  Then  she  smiled  again  at 
Derrick  and  disappeared,  shutting  the  door 
behind  her. 

"Now  won't  you  have  some  tea?"  said  the 
Princess. 

"No,  thank  yotr,    I  don't  want  it." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  there  was  a  very 
definite  question  in  her  eyes. 

"You  are  angry  with  me?  That  is  why  you 
won't  share  this  little  meal  with  me?" 

"Yes;  that's  it." 

She  said  nothing,  and  poured  out  some  tea 
for  herself. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  are  sur- 
prised at  that?  Do  you  deny  that  I  have  the 
right  to  feel  angry  with  you?  Haven't  you 
been  false  to  our  friendship?  Haven't  you 
trampled  on  it?" 

[237] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

"You  mean — by  intending  to  go  away  with- 
out letting  you  know?" 

"I  suppose  we  English  have  different  no- 
tions about  friendship  from  those  held  by  Rus- 
sians. I  considered  we  were  friends.  You 
called  me  friend.  You  signed  yourself  'Your 
friend'  to  me.  Baroness  Hausen  told  me  that 
you  valued  my  friendship,  even  that  you  had 
ideals  about  the  friendship  of  a  woman  and  a 
man." 

"I  did  not  give  Katya  the  right  to  say  any- 
thing about  that." 

"Then  do  you  mean  that  you  never  felt  any 
friendship  at  all  for  me?  Is  that  it?" 

"I  enjoyed  our  talks,  our  expeditions  in  the 
snows.  Much  that  you  said  interested  me. 
There  was  much  in  your  character  which  I  ad- 
mired." 

"But  you  never  at  any  time,  even  at  the  be- 
ginning, felt  any  real  friendship  for  me?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  which  seemed 
to  him  to  be  full  of  brooding  mystery. 

"In  the  vastness  of  our  many  lives  what  is 

such  a  brief  connection  as  ours  has  been,  yours 

and  mine?"  she  answered.     "We  meet.     We 

pass  a  few  weeks — weeks  only — together.    We 

[238] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


separate,  probably  for  ever.  To-morrow  I 
shall  be  on  my  way  to  India.  Is  it  of  any  use 
to  try  to  analyse  such  a  relation  as  ours?  It 
was  designed  as  everything  is  designed.  It 
had  to  be.  And  now  it  has  to  come  to  an  end." 

"You  have  plenty  of  brains,"  said  Derrick. 
"But  you  have  no  heart  at  all.  You  are  one 
of  the  most  deceiving  characters  I  have  ever 
met  with.  You  suggest  warmth,  and  you  are 
as  cold  as  ice.  You  suggest  sympathy,  and 
you  don't  know  what  sympathy  means.  I  al- 
ways felt  at  Montreux  that  you  and  Baroness 
Hausen  were  at  the  opposite  Poles.  But  it 
wasn't  so.  I  understand  now  why  you  were 
friends,  why  you  were  able  to  be  together. 
You  were  linked  by  character.  There  was  the 
tie  of  a  mutual  frigidity  between  you.  No 
wonder  you  were  able  to  live  among  the  snows 
and  the  ice.  Such  conditions  suited  you  both. 
You  will  be  an  alien  among  the  fires  of  India — 
if  you  go  there." 

"You  make  a  mistake.  I  belong  rather  to 
Asia  than  to  Europe,  like  many  Russians." 

After  a  moment  of  silence  Derrick  said: 

"You  have  achieved  something  like  a  mir- 
acle." 

[239] 


"What  miracle?" 

"You  have  made  me  respect  the  Baroness. 
She,  at  any  rate,  shows  herself  as  she  is.  She 
doesn't  pretend  friendship.  She  doesn't  pre- 
tend anything.  She  is  made  of  stone,  and  she 
lets  you  see  the  stone,  touch  it,  know  it  for 
what  it  is.  You  expect  nothing  from  her." 

He  got  up  mechanically  and  went  towards 
the  red  curtains  which  hid  the  windows;  then 
he  turned  and  came  back  to  the  hearth.  This 
woman  was  making  him  feel  the  uselessness  of 
everything,  the  smallness,  futility,  momentari- 
ness  of  everything,  in  an  almost  paralysing 
way.  Friendship,  love  even,  anger,  the  sense 
of  outrage,  the  desire  for  revenge — they 
seemed  inevitably  to  wilt,  to  wither  under  the 
action  of  her  peculiar  mind  and  temperament 
on  this  winter  afternoon.  And  yet — and  that 
was  the  Devil  of  it — her  attraction  for  him 
remained,  and  had  never  been  more  great  in  its 
influence  upon  him. 

As  he  stood  still  there,  with  the  little  fire  be- 
hind him,  a  cold  jealousy  possessed  him,  with 
which  his  ignorance  was  horribly  linked.  He 
had  the  feeling  that  there  was  something 
which,  known  by  him,  would  explain,  make 
[240] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


clear,  this  woman  to  him.  And  he  was  jealous 
of  this  mystery,  almost  as  if  it  were  a  living 
being. 

"I  have  never  understood  you,"  he  said  bit- 
terly. "And  I  never  shall  understand  you." 

He  made  an  almost  violent  movement  un- 
der the  influence  of  acute  feeling. 

"You  are  going!"  the  Princess  said. 

He  stopped. 

"Going!    Do  you  wish  me  to  go?" 

He  looked  down  at  her. 

"I  don't  believe  you  care  whether  I  go  or 
stay.  I  suppose  I  have  no  meaning  for  you — 
have  never  had  any  meaning  for  you.  And 
yet  you  were  resolved  to  know  me  at  Mon- 
treux.  Why  was  that  ?  Why  was  it  ?" 

After  a  moment  she  said: 

"Directly  I  saw  you  I  felt  we  were  destined 
to  know  each  other." 

"Destined!  It  was  your  will  power  which 
drew  me  towards  you.  Do  you  deny  that?  Do 
you  deny  that  human  beings  have  will  and  ex- 
ercise it  freely?" 

"The  Arabs  say  that  the  outline  of  our  lives 
is  imposed  upon  us  but  that  we  can  colour  them 
as  we  will.    Perhaps  that  is  the  truth." 
[241] 


"And  how  have  you  led  me  to  colour  my 
life?" 

"You  are  as  free  as  I  am." 

"Ah!" 

He  bent  towards  her. 

"Perhaps  I  could  force  you  to  feel  that  I 
have  some  power  over  you,"  he  said. 

She  sat  silent  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him. 

"I  have  the  power  to  prevent  you  from  sail- 
ing to  India  to-morrow,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"I  have!"  he  asserted,  almost  with  violence. 

He  stared  at  her.  He  wished  to  tell  her  the 
nature  of  the  power  he  had  asserted  he  pos- 
sessed, to  tell  her  that  he  could  lodge  a  com- 
plaint against  her,  charge  her  with  being  a 
swindler,  have  her  arrested.  The  Ophir  would 
sail  without  her  if  he  took  action  in  time.  But 
could  he  take  action?  As  he  looked  down  at 
this  woman  the  terrible  influence  of  person- 
ality came  upon  him,  that  psychic  mystery 
which  works  like  a  thing  underground  in  the 
dark,  and  which  can  sap  the  foundations  of 
life;  he  felt  it  like  something  as  definite  as 
wood  or  iron,  although  it  was  as  unsubstantial 
as  mist. 

[242] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


"I  have!"  he  had  said.  But  was  it  true? 
Has  a  man  power  if  he  is  unable  to  exercise  it? 
Is  not  the  exercise  of  the  power  the  only  posi- 
tive proof  of  its  possession?  As  Derrick  gazed 
at  the  Princess,  something  in  her  calm  and 
steady  expression,  even  in  her  attitude,  in  the 
shape  of  her  body,  in  the  forms  of  her  delicate 
hands,  in  the  way  the  thick  black  hair  grew  and 
was  folded  about  her  head,  told  him  that  he 
would  never  denounce  her  to  the  police  of 
Marseilles  or  of  any  other  city,  that  he  would 
never  give  away  the  secret  which  he  had  found 
out  in  Paris.  Could  he  even  tell  it  to  her  be- 
fore he  left  her  for  ever? 

"Well?"  she  said  at  last,  as  he  did  not  speak. 

"When  I  was  in  Paris "  he  began. 

"Yes?"  she  said. 

"It's  no  use !"  he  muttered. 

A  cry,  ridiculous  and  tragic,  rose  up  in  his 
heart  at  that  moment — "Why  have  I  the  feel- 
ings within  me,  the  traditions  behind  me,  of  a 
gentleman?" 

With  a  desperate  effort  to  get  the  better  of 
those  feelings  and  those  traditions  he  said: 

"Don't  you  know  what  happened  in  Paris?" 

"No,"  she  said  in  a  calm  voice. 
[243] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence  looking 
down,  not  at  her  now  but  at  the  dull  red  hotel 
carpet,  which  was  complicated  with  drab  and 
blue  flowers.  During  that  moment  he  was 
trying  to  force  himself  to  speak  about  the 
pearls,  to  attack  her  for  having  so  basely 
swindled  him. 

"She  shall  know  what  I  found  out  in  Paris," 
he  said  to  himself.  "I  will  tell  her." 

But  his  lips  obstinately  refused  to  speak. 
Within  him  a  voice,  persistent  and  final,  said: 

"You  wished  to  marry  this  woman.  You 
must  let  her  alone." 

At  last  he  looked  at  her  again.  He  read 
nothing  in  her  eyes  but  a  deep  and  sombre 
fatalism.  What  she  read  in  his  he  did  not 
know.  Finally,  he  turned  and  went  out  of 
the  room  without  another  word,  shutting  the 
door  behind  him. 


HE  went  back  to  the  hotel,  dined  with  Cock- 
ayne, to  whom  he  told  nothing,  and  then,  with 
the  excuse  that  he  was  tired,  went  up  to  his 
bedroom  and  shut  himself  in. 

He  told  himself  that  he  had  seen  the  Prin- 
cess for  the  last  time,  that  she  had  vanquished 
him  and  that  he  had  done  with  her.  But  in 
the  night  a  strange  and  cold  and  very  intense 
curiosity  took  possession  of  him  and  kept  him 
for  a  long  time  awake.  He  felt  that  the  heart 
of  the  mystery  of  this  woman  had  escaped  his 
investigation,  that  he  knew  nothing  of  it,  ab- 
solutely nothing,  that  he  had  never  drawn  near 
to  it,  but  that  if  he  could  look  into  it  perhaps 
everything  would  be  clear  to  him. 

Even  now  was  it  too  late  to  know  something 
of  the  truth? 

Perhaps — the  next  morning. 

The  morning  came  and  with  it  decision.  He 
sent  a  message  to  Cockayne  to  say  that  he 
would  be  in  to  lunch  but  was  engaged  till  then. 
[245] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

Afterwards  he  dressed,  breakfasted,  and  by 
ten  was  down  at  the  wharf  from  which  the 
Ophir  was  to  sail  that  morning  for  India. 

There  was  a  great  bustle  at  the  wharf.  Sea- 
faring men  were  coming  and  going.  Knots 
of  nondescript  people  were  standing  near  the 
sheds  talking  in  many  languages.  Cabs  were 
driving  up  full  of  travellers  and  hand  baggage. 
Derrick  was  jostled  by  passers-by,  and  stared 
at  by  lounging  men,  and  by  boys  with  hungry, 
knowing  eyes  and  dirty  hands  that  looked 
greedy.  One  ruffian  approached  him  and  said 
in  very  bad  French: 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  monsieur?  Are 
you  looking  for  anyone?  The  'Due  d'Au- 
male' " 

Derrick  moved  abruptly  away.  The  man 
with  a  scowl  looked  after  him. 

At  half -past  ten  a  large  omnibus  loaded  with 
luggage  rumbled  heavily  over  the  cobble 
stones.  A  placard  fixed  on  it  announced  that 
it  was  from  the  Hotel  du  Louvre  est  de  la 
Paix.  Standing  behind  a  pile  of  dirty  sacks, 
Derrick  watched  the  descent  of  the  people  in 
the  omnibus.  Among  them  was  Marguerite. 
She  stood  for  some  time  on  the  quay  quite  near 
[246] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


him,  but  did  not  see  him.  She  was  surrounded 
by  trunks  and  vociferating  porters.  Finally, 
attended  by  a  man  in  uniform  from  the  hotel, 
she  disappeared  under  the  shed  roof  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Ophir,  grasping  in  one  hand  a 
large  case,  which  looked  like  a  jewel-case,  and 
in  the  other  some  strapped  together  umbrellas 
and  sticks. 

Was  the  Princess's  pointed  stick  among 
them,  the  stick  on  which  she  had  so  often  leaned 
as  she  and  Derrick  had  stood  together  in  the 
snows  ? 

Eleven  o'clock  was  striking  from  the 
churches  of  Marseilles  when  Derrick  saw  in  the 
distance  a  victoria  drawn  by  a  big  brown  horse 
coming  along  the  quay  towards  him.  It  pulled 
up  not  far  from  him  in  front  of  the  place  where 
the  OpMr  was  berthed.  As  the  horse  faced 
him,  and  the  driver  on  the  box  was  a  broad 
heavy  man,  Derrick  could  not  see  who  was  in- 
side the  carriage.  Directly  it  stopped,  a  tall, 
thin  and  large-boned  man  got  out  with  a  sort; 
of  almost  awkward  litheness.  For  a  moment 
his  face  was  turned  full  towards  Derrick,  a 
face  framed  in  thick  yellow-brown  and  yellow 
hair,  pale,  with  a  bossy  forehead,  prominent 
[247] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

cheek  bones,  large  lips  and  large  white  teeth — 
the  man  Derrick  had  noticed  on  the  previous 
day  in  the  hall  of  the  Hotel  du  Louvre.  For 
an  instant  only  the  man's  eyes  travelled  along 
the  crowded  quay  with  a  glance  that  seemed  at 
the  same  time  piercing  and  indifferent,  and  to 
Derrick  it  was  as  if  a  glare  of  mind  was  just 
then  turned  on  the  stones,  the  sheds,  the  ve- 
hicles and  the  people,  like  a  search-light, 
fierce,  implacable  and  disturbing.  Then  the 
man  swung  round.  Derrick  knew  why.  He 
knew  who  was  going  to  get  out  of  the  car- 
riage, who  was  the  man's  companion,  who  was 
going  with  him  on  the  Ophir  to  India.  The 
man  held  out  a  big  hand.  Another  hand  took 
it.  Princess  Aranensky  got  down.  For  a 
moment  they  stood  together  on  the  quay.  The 
man  paid  the  driver,  took  the  Princess  famil- 
iarly by  the  arm,  and  seemed  to  draw  her 
powerfully,  but  calmly,  towards  the  great  ship. 

The  crowd  swallowed  them  up. 

Derrick  stood  quite  still  by  the  pile  of  dirty 
sacks.  Should  he  follow  them?  Should  he 
accost  them?  Should  he  even  now  try  to  do 
something  to  prevent  the  Princess  from  leav- 
ing France  with  his  money,  and  with  this  man, 
[248] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


for  whose  sake  probably,  almost  certainly,  she 
had  done  what  she  had  done? 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  monsieur?  Are 
you " 

It  was  the  lounging  ruffian  again. 

"Damn  you !    Let  me  alone,  will  you?" 

Derrick  had  turned  upon  him  ferociously. 
The  man  slunk  away.  And  then  Derrick 
went  off  in  the  opposite  direction  without 
another  glance  towards  the  OpMr,  which  in  an 
hour  would  be  carrying  her  burden  to  Asia. 
He  turned  to  the  left  presently  and  came  to 
the  harbour,  where  the  conjurers  and  acrobats 
were  performing  in  the  midst  of  the  watching 
crowds.  There  he  drew  out  his  watch  and 
looked  at  it.  Twenty  past  eleven!  He  had 
forty  minutes  to  do  what  he  had  just  thought 
of  doing.  Time  enough!  He  went  on,  walk- 
ing fast. 

Between  twelve  and  half -past,  from  a  point 
on  the  sea  front  high  above  the  sea,  he  saw  the 
Ophir,  pouring  black  smoke  from  her  enor- 
mous funnels,  drawing  out  of  the  harbour  into 
the  open  waters  of  the  Gulf  of  Lyons.  He 
watched  her  steady  progress  with  a  sort  of 
dull,  and  yet  staring,  interest.  She  was  carry- 
[249] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIME 

ing  away  with  her  an  unexplained  mystery 
which  had  injured  his  life.  She  faded  present- 
ly upon  the  horizon  into  greyness  and  a  sug- 
gestion of  mist. 

When  he  was  back  again  in  the  hotel  he  went 
up  to  his  bedroom,  took  the  pearls  from  their 
case,  spread  them  out  mechanically  on  a  table, 
sat  down  and  stared  at  them  for  a  long  time. 
Presently  there  was  a  knock  on  the  door  and  a 
voice  called  out: 

"Merton!    Are  you  there?" 

"Come  in!"  Derrick  answered. 

Cockayne  showed  himself. 

"I  lunched  long  ago.    Aren't  you " 

He  saw  the  pearls  and  was  silent. 

"What  do  you  think  of  these?"  said  Derrick. 

Cockayne  came  up  to  the  table,  bent  down 
and  picked  up  the  pearls. 

"They  look  remarkably  fine,"  he  said,  after 
a  moment's  consideration. 

"Yes,  don't  they?    But  they're  false." 

Cockayne  put  down  the  pearls. 

"They  make  marvellous  imitations  now- 
adays," he  said.  "It's  easy  to  be  taken  in." 

"Yes,  isn't  it?    When  I  get  back  to  Lon- 
don I  think  I  shall  give  them  to  a  flapper." 
[250] 


ROBERT  HICHENS 


Cockayne  looked  hard  at  him. 

"I  don't  think  you  will,"  he  said. 

Derrick  left  the  case  open  on  the  table,  threw 
the  pearls  carelessly  into  his  despatch  box,  shut 
it,  and  said: 

"Now  I'll  do  anything  you  like!" 


THE  END 


[251] 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000042215     4 


